


Untitled

by lesbleusthroughandthrough



Category: XV de France
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-04
Updated: 2013-04-04
Packaged: 2017-12-07 11:07:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 37,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/747830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesbleusthroughandthrough/pseuds/lesbleusthroughandthrough
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A source of essay procrastination since November.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

Morgan was aware.

He was aware that he had been asleep, and now he was awake.

And on breathing deeply on his realisation, his limbs screamed.

_Post-match day_. He grimaced internally.

Upon thought his brain pounded.

_Post- match hangover, too_.

His throat was like sandpaper. The sheets he was lying on were soft. But not hotel soft. He could see light blue through his eyelids. Not like his Batman bedsheets that he’d brought to Bourgoin all those years ago. His nose told him bachelor pad. But not like Morgan’s batchelor pad- that smelled of old socks and Chinese takeaway. This one smelled like ironed shirts and lots of coffee and wooden floors- _organized._

Paris. That’s where they’d played, his brain told him. Racing Metro. In Paris. So, if he wasn’t in his hotel, where was he?

_What happened last night?_

But these bedsheets were comfortable and his head hurt and it was really bright. He pulled them tighter around himself.

He realised he was butt-naked.

_Oh shit_.

Morgan was a pyjamas sleeper. Call him a toddler, but he couldn’t sleep without them. Or socks.

He groaned and rolled over, squeezing his eyes even more shut.

He’d hooked up with someone. Just great. He had thought he was getting over that sort of thing. He must have been _wasted_ last night. He wanted to curse his team mates, but he couldn’t even remember who had been minding him. Luckily, his senses told him from the pull of the covers, that he wasn’t sharing the bed right now with anyone else.

He swallowed. His throat _really_ hurt. Like someone had tried to force a golf ball down it. But the smell of coffee was making his stomach turn so much he didn’t think that getting up for water was a good idea. Even opening his eyes wasn’t a particularly good idea, but he had to try.

Slowly he rolled on his back and opened them.

The room was white. No, it wasn’t. The light was making it white. It was sort of... blue. The walls were blue. The roof was blue. Light, sky blue. He propped himself up on a pillow. The room was the apartment. At one end, his end, was an open window. Shutters flapped. He could see a balcony and buildings across the street towering above. Fancy buildings. _Must be a fancy apartment_. But it wasn’t- although he was almost right about the bed sheets- they were the colour of angry sea. He was also on a double mattress on the floor, and at the other end of the apartment he could see a countertop and stools. _Coffeemaker_. Fancy fridge. Makeshift wardrobes. _Someone just moved house_. Beside the window his clothes were thrown over a small armchair. But not thrown like he’d thrown them- someone had picked them up and put them there. But most importantly:

He was alone.

He sighed with relief and rolled off the mattress onto the wooden floor, slithering towards the chair to put something on. It wasn’t exactly warm with the window open. He tugged on his boxers and, foregoing his shirt because of what looked like sick on the sleeve, pulled his jumper over his head. Then he headed over to the window and looked out.

He must have been right in the centre of Paris, but on the very top floor of a very high building. Cars moved in the street below, people bustled on the sidewalks, the sky was a clear blue and the sun was well up- a cool breeze ruffled his hair and raised goosebumps on his back.

Feeling marginally better, he turned back inside to address the issue of his destroyed throat, and as he did he spotted a folded up piece of paper on the floor. He picked it up and turned it over.

_Morgan_.

He realised it must have been left on top of his clothes. He unfolded it.

_Have gone out. Won’t be back. Help yourself to coffee. Door will lock behind you on way out. M._

He was confused. He’d never been left a note before. And he certainly had written plenty of them. Won’t be back? That wasn’t very nice.

He found glasses on a shelf beside the sink and some orange juice in the fancy fridge. Then he went back to the bed, pulling the duvets around him. He was still exhausted and had no desire to go anywhere else. Plus, he needed to figure out what had even happened. Retracing his steps might work...

***

Celebrating a win moving them to the top of the league table, and after probably one too many shots of Jagermeister, the Clermont lads, circa 2am arrived at the club in the centre of Paris. Morgan, already hovering somewhere near the moon at this stage, slipped and stumbled down the stairs into the pit that was this particular club, but it wasn’t unlike other clubs, the walls were dark and the lights were bright and colourful and there was music that rattled his brain and went _ka-dunk, ka-dunk, ka-dunk_. The boys had managed to get their hands on some champagne and a VIP section where they were joined by some of their comrades from Stade Francais and Racing Metro.

Morgan yelped at the familiar back-cracking hug from the mighty Pascal Pape and avoided nuggies from Ben Fall and Tsar, and was grabbed from behind from Debaty and hauled over to the bar for more beer. After several rounds, or days, or hours, the first coherent memory Morgan seemed to salvage was one of the guys whispering “You’re being watched” in his ear, and then collapsing with giggles. Morgan had followed his gaze and suddenly met the angry glare across the room of Maxime Machenaud.

And whoa, was their anger in that glare. Harsh. Morgan barely knew the guy, bar a surprise call up for the French team in the summer where they’d shared a flight, hotel and a team sheet and to be honest, not much else. He’d played well in the test he’d started, and the press had hyped up the “competition” between them ever since.

Competition? There was no such thing. Who ever worked the hardest got on the pitch. And for as long as Morgan could remember, that had been him. Team mates could never be the enemy.

So what was this guy’s deal?

Then he realised he must have imagined it, because he was looking at an empty seat now- Machenaud had disappeared. Then he saw Kayser give a wink, reach across the table and slip something into what must have been Machenaud’s drink.

“No one is allowed to look at you like that, buddy”.

The next coherent thing he remembered, bar the bottom of far too many glasses, muddled song lyrics and spinning around dance floors, was emptying the contents of his stomach in the sink of one of the clubs bathrooms. Once he was sure there was nothing left in there he wiped his mouth on his sleeve and doused himself under the tap. He stumbled over to the bathroom walls and pressed his cheek against the cool tiles. Ahhh better. He slid to the ground. Much better. Still destroyed but sober enough to realise that he’d need help home.  Whoever that was going to be would also be dragged to a kebab shop. It was just that time of the morning.

He could hear a toilet stall opening. Whoops, this was embarrassing. He giggled and pulled himself uncertainly to his feet to find himself face to face with Machenaud.

“You-“ he started.

“Youuuu-“ growled Machenaud, clearly in a far worse state than Morgan was.

Morgan stumbled forwards and poked him in the chest. “You have problem.” He pointed at himself.

Machenaud was shorter than Morgan, so he knew he could take him.

“Me? No problem,” he made to move past Morgan but Morgan grabbed him by the shirt and went to growl in his face when suddenly he was on the floor, pinned. He hadn’t counted on the smaller man being better built for this sort of thing.

Morgan’s groggy brain was slow to react so all he could think to do was reach for his tumbles of curly brown hair. Machenaud yelped as he tugged and they tussled on the floor, kicking and biting and screeching, neither could remember how they got there, and at one stage Morgan wasn’t even aware of if he was lying on his back or not, but he was aware that he had ripped a sizeable chunk out of Max’s shirt.

And then somehow their lips met and then Morgan was reacting, he felt angry lips on his and all he could think to do was to probe back- gently but then as he took hold of the back of Machenaud’s neck he felt the lips soften as they responded to the kiss, then he felt tongue in his throat and he vague acidic taste of bile and then they both fell backwards, away from each other.

“What are you DOING?”

“What are YOU doing?”

“Did you start that?”

“I didn’t start it!”

“Ew, you taste like vomit.”

“YOU taste like vomit.”

And then Morgan was kissing him again, Max’s lips were harsh and demanding and Morgan had no choice but to comply, but he wanted it, that tingly feeling at the pit of his stomach and in his pants told him he wanted it too, and he tightened his grip of Max’s hair as he felt hands move from under his shoulders and down his back and tracing the iliac furrow on his hips-

And Morgan’s hands moved too- over the taut muscles of Max’s shoulders and the soft skin under his shirt where it had been ripped, all the while exploring Max’s mouth with his tongue and then moving his hands down his waistband he laid a hand on Max’s groin, who had caught Morgan’s lower lip between his teeth and Morgan felt the slight pressure of a smile and he took it as encouragement, beginning to dip his hand under the band of his boxers, his stomach in somersaults, but then Max stopped.

“We’re on a bathroom floor, stop it!” he giggled before sinking his teeth into Morgan’s neck. The pit of Morgan’s stomach recognized disappointment but he reacted to the pain of the bite and the musky smell of hair and aftershave in his nose and he moved his hands back up to Max’s neck, lifting his head back up so their lips met again- but this time he was slower, more gentle, holding back when Max leaned in so their lips just touched.

Time slowed. Morgan’s eyes opened and they met Max’s whose had obviously just done the same and widened. They were sparkly and brown and deep like a swilling pool of melted chocolate. He realised that he hadn’t been breathing and let out a sigh. Max’s cool fingers that had been tracing his hips came to a stop.

They were indeed on a bathroom floor.  Max’s head was against the cool tiles on the walls and Morgan was on his knees above him, squeezing the sides of his legs. His brain still felt oddly disconnected. _Still drunk_. He could feel the rise and fall of Max’s chest slowing, he still had one hand on the nape of his neck and another tipped his chip up towards Morgan’s face.

But Morgan had a funny feeling that the moment was gone.

He staggered to his feet but it was too much for his guts and he fell towards the sink again, retching. He could feel a hand on his arm but then something grabbed him on the back of his neck and then he was bouncing off things and he was flying... ow.

He could see a large guy in a suit standing... above him? _Bouncer_. His brain told him firmly.

“Hi sir,” he giggled. He could see that bouncer’s finger wagging at him and saw his mouth move but heard “no more drunken faggots” but all he could do was giggle and roll over to retch some more. And then he felt the pressure on his arm again and he became aware that it was quiet. He blinked a few times and saw that he was in the street; the back door of the club was swinging. Max was lying on his side beside him, his arm was pressing gently on his. He wiggled forward and kissed Morgan again.

Morgan pulled back. “What’s the difference between the street and the bathroom floor?”

Max raised his head off the pavement- he had mud smeared across his cheek- and frowned.

He must have realised that there was mud on his face and he tried to wipe it off, but his fingers were so dirty that it was making it worse. And then Morgan was trying to help but his fingers were filthy too. And then he started giggling, and before they both knew it they were rolling around on the street shaking with hysterical laughter and then they had managed to push themselves to their feet and stumbled along the road, Morgan didn’t know where he was, but this guy was nuzzling his neck and the hair on his cheeks was scratching off Morgan and it felt really good and so Morgan was okay with this.

After that things seemed to get harder to remember.

There were a few more blank patches in between what seemed like jumping in puddles and pausing because it was now Max’s turn to empty his stomach and then Morgan was in a lift and he was tracing Max’s cheekbones with his teeth and then he was lying on the floor staring at the ceiling while Max swore and giggled and keys clinked and then he was pinning Max down on soft, soft blue and he was finally free to tear off their clothes and squeeze Max’s thigh’s between his and bite into the lovely soft skin under his abs and wondering if it was a good idea before slipping his lips over the tip of Max’s cock and feeling it warm and heavy in his mouth and hands grabbed the back of his head and pushed it forward so coarse, dark hair tickled his nose and he struggled to suck but his stomach lurched again when he heard Max cry when he came- he was sure he’d never heard such a beautiful sound- so he swallowed and their lips found each other again and their hands moved up and down each other’s bodies, where places were caressed by fingers they were soon followed by teeth and tongues and the last thing Morgan remembered was lying on his back with the weight of Max across his chest feeling his soft breath warming the skin just below his ribs and seeing the sky turn orange outside the window.

***

Morgan opened his eyes again.

_Door will lock behind you. **M.**_

His stomach lurched, but in an “Uh-oh I’m about to be hit by a bus” kind of way, and he threw himself towards the kitchen sink to rid his insides of the Orange juice. 


	2. Two

_Should I call him?_

The thought entered his head as he made his way down the street towards the nearest metro station. He had no idea what time it was, his phone had died during the night and, conveniently, there was nothing to charge it with in the apartment. He just hoped the bus hadn’t left for Clermont, because there wasn’t much left in his wallet either.

No. He couldn’t call him anyway. He didn’t have his number. He didn’t feel like he could ask for it, but he didn’t know anyone who might have it. He tried to think who Max had been palsy with in Argentina, and Brice Dulin, the small twinkly-eyed full-back came to mind. Morgan smiled, Brice was a good guy, but he didn’t even know how he’d go about asking for Max’s number.

Anyway, it would be an interesting voicemail, he mused.

He padded carefully down the metro steps and examined the map. Three stops, one change, two stops. Okay, cool, he wasn’t too far away from the hotel at all. And he just about had enough change for the metro. Taxi would have been a better idea- his head still felt like it was about to explode- but he wasn’t exactly loaded after last night. Besides, there was definitely nothing left in his stomach to vomit.

The ticket machine read 9.30am as he paid and he breathed a sigh of relief. Most of the guys still wouldn’t be up. He definitely wouldn’t miss the bus, and as an added bonus, not too many people would know he was missing.

 _I might even make it in time for breakfast_. His stomach purred with approval.

He sat down on the metro and leaned his head back against the glass, closing his eyes.

“ _Hi Max, this is Morgan._ ” His brain continued with the imaginary voicemail. “ _Thanks for the note._ ” Uh, that seemed like a good start. “ _I’m sorry that you taste so good._ ” His throat still throbbed. He felt the sides of his mouth twitch. But then what? _“I hope to see you soon”_? “ _When can we do that again?”_ or even “ _I promise it won’t happen again._ ”?

Did Morgan want it to happen again? His breath caught in his throat and his ears were suddenly filled with the sound of Max’s orgasm. His stomach gave another lurch and he felt his jeans straining. Hurriedly he rearranged his jacket over his groin and looked around to see had anyone noticed. The metro hissed to a stop and he hopped out and awkwardly staggered towards the next platform.

 _Fuck! I have it bad_.

But the more he tried to push the thoughts out of his head, the more seemed to come back to him. The noises Max had made, especially when Morgan had tested the inside of his thigh. His small tongue flickering inside his mouth. Max’s hair, his crazy hair, which sprung out at 400 different angles; but 400 more when he had just been fucked. Morgan wanted nothing more at this moment than to bring order to it.

 _Why did he leave?_ He thought miserably, boarding the next metro as it arrived. This one was on a busier line, he had to stand, nonchalantly still trying to drape his jacket over the front of his trousers. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see and hear two girls looking at him, giggling. He groaned inwardly, and hoped, as a first, that it was because he had sick on his pants and a stupid erection on a busy public subsystem, and not because he was Morgan Parra. He couldn’t deal with his fan club right now.

He’d also wanted to shower at Max’s, but hadn’t. His bathroom had been so small and his bottles so neatly arranged around the base of his shower that he’d have felt invasive if he’d taken a step towards it. Besides, the two towels hung neatly over the back of the door were still damp. They’d smelled like him. _And I would have much rather showered with you, too, Max_. He wished he’d woken up earlier, he smiled to himself visualising Max coming out of the bathroom with a towel turban on his head, trying to contain his crazy hair. That was the only thing crazy about Max, it seemed- his hair. He stiffened remembering the feel of it.

Apart from that, there wasn’t a piece of fluff out of place in that crazily small apartment.

For the second time, the metro slid to a halt and he slinked off. His hotel was only up the steps, and he sighed involuntarily, relieved when he saw the bus parked in front of it.

 _Why did you leave me, Max? Why did you leave?_ He felt his chest oddly contracting as he took the elevator. _The last time I was in one of these_... He traced his finger over the red-blue mark he knew was forming just under his collar bone and sighed.

“What time did you get home?” Jubon asked as he held open the door for him. “You look awful.”

Jubon had always been like an adopted father to Morgan, and he had always been Morgan’s roommate. He didn’t quite do nights out like the rest of them so he wouldn’t have known about last night. And for some reason, Morgan just couldn’t bring himself to tell him.

“Nugh. Slept on Kay’s floor. He’s worse,” he added dryly, hoping this would be enough incentive for Jubon not to corroborate.

He pushed past him into their room and headed towards the bathroom. “I’m going for a shower.”

“Morgan, you didn’t come home last night. Did you?”

Morgan pretended not to hear him. “Is breakfast over yet?”

“Just that kind of night, huh?”

Morgan looked back at him and managed a weak smile. Jubon had very blue eyes, unnervingly so, and Morgan felt like he was being x-rayed. Jubon frowned.

“Are you okay? You seem...”

What? He seemed... what? What kind of guy comes home from a one-night stand THIS visibly distressed? _Sad, even._

“I’m going for a shower,” he repeated, raising his eyebrows dismissively, and he shut the door before any more questions could follow.

In his lovely hot shower he washed off the mud from the pavement the night before, the sweat and alcohol from the club. _Washing it away._

_I don’t understand. He kissed me. He started it. He brought me home. Did I do something wrong? Did I go too far? But he wanted it... It’s the drink making me feel this shit, isn’t it?_

_Fine, if he didn’t want to act like it happened, neither do I._ The love-bites would fade too. He gently fingered a smattering across his stomach. They would be mostly gone by the middle of next week, and besides, it’s not like anyone else would be able to tell them from your average rugby player’s collection of bruises.

 _I do though. They’re smaller. Sweeter._ His breath caught in his already sore throat, and he swallowed. That would get better too.

He looked up into the water dribbling onto his face. _Just wash it away, wash it away..._

***

For the next few months, Morgan managed, somehow, to push that night from his mind. Toulon had recaptured the top spot in the table, and there was the Heineken cup looming to worry about. He’d started researching Masters degree programmes since he’d finished university last year and several deadlines were closing in. He had to work- hard. But Morgan had always worked hard.

At first, it had been a bit difficult. He’d wake up from light sleep almost feeling rich, messy hair between his fingers. He’d found Max’s profile on Facebook and sat with the mouse hovering over the “ _Ajouter”_ button. Jubon frequently invited him over for family meals at in the Bonnaire household (a sure sign he was worried about him). And occasionally he’d stray into his thoughts- when the pilot announced they were flying over Paris on his way to Metz to see his family, when he saw Racing Metro’s progress on the Top 14 table. But he always snapped back to himself.

And everything almost went back to normal. Morgan just hadn’t counted on one thing.

Max was equally as good at his job.

***

 _After almost four years, Parra, you’d think you’d be used to it_. But no, he hung up the phone with a beatific smile on his face, wandered over to his bed and promptly collapsed head first into the sheets.

“ _YES!_ ” He yelled into the fabric. _“Y-E-E-E-S!_ ” He sat back up laughing to himself. Marcoussis in November. Jo Maso, the granddaddy of _l’equipe de France_ , had phoned him early with the news. “Act surprised,” he’d warned, the official announcement wasn’t until tomorrow. But Jo had his favourites, he’d be ringing them up right now. Morgan rolled over again, unable to contain screeches of pure glea, and rolled again, and on to the carpet beside his bed, thumping down right on top of a host of college prospectuses he’d been trying to sort.  Breathless, he looked up at his calendar pinned above his desk, and made a mental note to highlight next week in blue and red.

Beside him on the ground, his phone buzzed. _Fouass_. He answered.

“Take it you got a call from everyone’s favourite caretaker,” he could hear Francois Trinh-Duc beaming down the phone. All Francois ever did was beam. Well, when he was happy. His sad face, on the other hand, could crush souls. That was the problem when your partner in midfield had the emotional range of a toddler.

“Marcousssisssss!” Morgan affirmed back. He heard peals of laughter in the background. “Say hi to baby Theo for me!” Francois’ one year-old, more adequately, had the same emotional range.

“You haven’t seen him in ages, Morgan, he’s enormous now,” Morgan’s face crinkled in disgust at the cooing noises one of his dearest friends was making down the line to him. “Okay, I get it! Give him a kiss for me. Fufu?”

“Got the call just before me.” Morgan grinned. Fufu was such a dude, and such a top bloke, he was glad he’s made it in. “So did Loulou,” Francois added absent-mindedly.

“So much for keeping it under wraps! Philippe is going to be furious.” They never called him that to his face.

“But it happens. Every. Year. Besides, I need more than two days to organise myself before I fly up.” Parra recognised the heavy note in Fouass’s voice- he was going to miss his baby. Morgan had nothing more to say, he didn’t want to probe him- New Zealand had been bad enough last year.

“Well, I haven’t heard any more from this end, you’re the first I’ve heard from. I’ll keep you updated on whoever else has made it.”

“Do. You know he’s sending some back again next Monday? Chopping us back down to 23.”

“But not us,” added Morgan sternly, making sure that wasn’t hope he heard in Fouass’ tone. That boy ran away with his emotions sometimes. Morgan’s phone beeped.

“Call coming in the other line, bro- catch you Friday!”

Morgan spent the rest of the day answering and fielding calls, making a mental list of everyone who’d made it and praying that the person he rang next had too. Wes was grumbling about missing his _partiel blancs_ in university and having to redo them over Christmas, Roro hadn’t made it, but was sort of looking forward to watching from the couch this year. It was the last number that caught him by surprise.

“Morgan! Remember me?”

Morgan almost didn’t, then he cracked into a smile.

“Well if it isn’t our favourite _Duduelle_ ,” he smirked, hearing Brice Dulin cackling at the end of the phone.

“The one and only! Just checking you made it in bro- ‘cuz, if you did, the good news is I’ll be joining you!” Morgan smiled and shook his head. He remembered what he was like after his second cap too, which was strange- that made him feel about ten years older than Brice, instead of just the one. _Nearly two_. He reminded himself.

“I’m glad to hear it! Would have dragged you up myself if I hadn’t.” He was speaking the truth, and he was sure other people would have helped. It was impossible not to like this guy.

“Michel made it too!” Brice added, although this was old news- Frederick Michalak had really taken him under his wing when he’d first arrived. “And so did Max! He knew you’d make it though, but I just had to check.”

The name bounced around Morgan’s ear. _And so did Max... Max... Max..._

Morgan suddenly felt soft skin beneath him, he felt hair in his hands, he felt lips biting his and his body at flush with another, he remembered holding him in his arms, remembered all the wonderful noises he made when he was touched in the right places...

“I... I...” _could not form a sentence right now if my life depended on it._

“I’ll see you Friday, bro- few other people I gotta call! _À bientôt, mon pote. “_ And Brice hung up.

 _He knew I’d make it._

_He was thinking about me_.

He was now lying completely paralyzed on top of his stack of college prospectuses. A horrible mix of emotions were numbing him. He closed his eyes, sorting his thoughts.

_I’m scared. How can I do my job right around him? This is the national stage. This is as good as it gets._

_But I need him_. This emotion suddenly rose and expanded his chest. _Yes, I need to feel him. Just once more._ He breathed in, trying to steady himself. He could nearly smell his hair.

And then he slammed the emotion back down into its box.

 _I need to feel him again, to know that it wasn’t real. That it could not possibly have been that good. That I’m imagining it. I barely even remember it._ Oh, but he did. _We were both fucked._

True. In more ways than one.

_But he knew I’d make it._

_You both play in the same position._ A chilling thought gripped him. _What if he’s trying to unnerve you? What if he takes your place? Is his dick really worth giving up your claim as the most dependable scrum-half of your generation? No. There is no way it could be._

He regained the use of his body and sat up, rubbing his temples.

 _His dick is not worth my career_. He repeated it over and over again in his head, finally standing up and walking into his kitchen and flipping on the kettle. _Coffee_. _You haven’t had it since_. Too right, he hadn’t had it before either, he found the stuff disgusting. Although on that occasion it had succeeded in actually settling his stomach.

This time he reached instead for his tea bags. His phone was still buzzing on the ground.

He ignored it. Tea now and prospectuses. Phone the university. Shower. Dinner _chez Jubon_. Then sleep.

_And don’t think about him._


	3. Three

_Uh-oh_. _Doc’s making that face_. He tried not to look as worried as the physio ran expert fingers over his thigh.

“How was your acceleration afterwards?”

 _Bit shit._ “Not great.”

 _It’s just a little strain. And you know it_. _Please be a little strain. Marcoussis is so close._

Training had been continuing around them but was gradually beginning to slow. The game of backs and forwards stuttered to a halt as everyone, neatly attuned to this expert man’s face, gave up their eavesdropping and gradually stalked closer.

Doc asked him to flex his leg. He did and his face scrunched up, giving him away. _Dammit face_. “It’s nothing” he hissed. He could almost sense Jubon and Roro and several others shaking their heads. Vern arrived, looking concerned.

Doc looked up.

“It’s a small one, “ _A few days a few days please a few days_ , “I give it ten days. But that’s of absolute rest.” _Which means a few more of fitness after. Is this a nice way of saying two weeks, Doc?_

It was the Tuesday after the announcement. They were boarding the bus Thursday night. The first match would be the following Saturday. His chest tightened. _I might miss Australia_. Vern Cotter patted his head.

“I’ll get Mr Saint-Andre on the phone then, shall I?” he said grimly.

“Let’s get you up, young Morgan,” said Doc, and several arms reached out and pulled him to his feet as he was marched, unsteadily, towards the physio room. He winced at every step. _Urgh, but I can’t possibly run on this though, he’s right_. Still, Australia... now that was a big game.

Maybe he’d be lucky. Maybe he’d be fit.

“He wants to speak to you,” Vern handed Morgan his mobile. Morgan guessed it was his France coach.

“Sir,” he croaked finally down the line.

“Morgan,” Phillipe Saint-Andre confirmed. “I hear you’ve hurt yourself, boy.”

His raspy voice was oddly reassuring.

“Yeah. Thigh. Doc says ten days. But I can be fit for Australia,” he added hurriedly. He wasn’t normally one to beg.

“I’m sure you will be, _mon fiston_ , and you’re not out of my original group. But I don’t want to take any chances. I think I’ll call up someone else, expand the group. I just thought I’d let you know that you’re still in it. I know what you’re like.”

_Oh and what’s that._

“I promise you, Morgan, solemnly, that the team will not fall apart if you don’t play. Don’t worry.”

Morgan scowled. “You promise?”

He heard a laugh. “Now who’s the boss? I just want you to not rush in to getting better. We won’t fully know the extent of this injury until tomorrow and I don’t want you rushing off and hurting yourself under the guise of getting better. Rest, and I’ll see you Friday.”

“Okay. Thanks, sir.” He hung up and neatly bowled Vern’s phone back at him.

“He’s right you know,” Vern affirmed, “and besides, I won’t be mourning completely if I get you back here for a week of prep instead.” He was probably right. But Morgan had to go to Marcoussis.

“Besides, they have that new boy in- they’ll still need your experience. He’s no Yach.” The others in the room nodded in agreement.

 _By new boy he means Max_. He hoped no one saw the tremor that one caused.

_He’ll probably call up Dousse. And Max might not be in the final group. And this might just be your imagination acting up._

He felt a sudden pang at the selfishness in that thought.

_No, I don’t want him to be sent home, necessarily. I just want..._

_Well._

_I just..._

_Want him to make_ that _noise again._

He swallowed.

_Who am I kidding; this is selfish either way I look at it._

***

 _Marcatraz, day two_ , his brain told him before he’d even opened his eyes.

Morgan rolled over in his bed and lifted his phone to check the time, squinting in the light it suddenly through on his face.

6am. No wonder it wasn’t bright yet. He just wasn’t used to going to bed so _early_ \- honestly, there was nothing to do here at all.

Well, he was awake now. And breakfast wouldn’t be out until 8. His stomach gave a disappointed grumble.

Marcoussis was pretty in the mornings. Maybe he’d go for a walk, seeing as running was still off limits. He pulled on his shoes and strapped up his thigh, wrapping himself in his jacket, tucking his ears into his hat. Careful not to wake his snoring roommate, he quietly shut the door behind him. Once outside, he put his earphones in but didn’t turn the sound on, the birds were nice enough to listen to, despite it being cold and foggy. He crunched the gravel along his favourite trail, musing to himself.

A few meters along, he looked back at the place what would become his home for the next three weeks. Imanol always called it “Marcatraz”, and the name had stuck, even though it was probably the opposite. It was plush; it was clean, excellently equipped. The low white wash buildings where everyone was still sleeping were still in darkness. It was just, well... boring. Of their two days off a week, they got to go into Paris and explore, but that was often taken up by media jobs and public appearances. The internet helped, only a bit though.

His thoughts strayed, but he turned around and kept walking.

 _Max is ignoring me_ , he thought petulantly.

It wasn’t strictly true. They had conversed about as much as in Argentina. He hadn’t even looked up as Morgan had hobbled on the bus, and at dinner, he’d sat with his friends and Morgan had sat, as usual, with most of the Clermontois. After dinner Morgan had to have extra physio on his leg, but that was a lone journey. By the time he’d left the physio room, everyone else had gone to bed, and it was time to follow suit.

In truth, Morgan probably could have walked right up to him at any stage. He could have introduced himself, properly. He could have asked him for a game of cards, congratulated him on his selection. Asked him to talk. Played FIFA (a surprising place for privacy).

But Morgan wasn’t even sure what he was going to say. The unsent voicemail was still hovering at the back of his mind.

 _Hi. Sorry you taste so nice_.

He grimaced, but plodded on. And then what? _Can we go to bed?_

He sighed. He wanted his leg better, fast. He needed to get out and run and smash into things. Luckily, this seemed to be what they paid him for.

He finished his circuit and it was nearly a quarter to seven. Still hungry, he contemplated the granola bars he knew Fouass would have stashed somewhere in his room that he was sharing with Fufu. He wasn’t sure about Fufu, but Fouass was not a morning person at all... was he really that hungry?

He reached inside and paused at the junction between the two staircases- the one to his room and the one to Fouass’s. His stomach growled angrily.

“Why do I never think to bring my own granola bars,” he muttered to himself, climbing the steps toward’s Fouass’s. He reached the right floor, pulling out his earphones and wrapping them around his phone. Suddenly he looked up and there was Max.

He’d obviously just seen him too and froze. Morgan hadn’t heard him coming because of his socks on the carpet, he was in his tracksuit bottoms and a t-shirt and his hair looked even more like an upside-down bird’s nest.

Morgan’s pulse was quickening at the sight of Max’s skin- his collarbones at the top of his slightly lopsided t-shirt, his biceps gently tugging his sleeves.

His lips parted slightly to speak. _Talk_? But no syllable could scale the enormous lump in his throat. They continued to stare at each other. Morgan was suddenly roasting alive in his clothing.

It was Morgan’s stomach that made the first move.

_HUNGRY!!_

Max suddenly relaxed the sides of his face, around his eyes crinkling, smiling slightly. _Me too_. He nodded his head in the direction of the stairs.

Morgan shook his. _Kitchens close until 8_ , is probably what he would have said, were he capable of speech. Max looked crestfallen, and Morgan smiled despite himself. He twitched his head. _Come_.

Somehow, his legs moved and he moved past him down the corridor- although not before he’d hesitated at his scent, and before he could stop himself, turned his head to meet Max’s eyes.

They were huge, and brown, and sparkling, and so much more than Morgan remembered from the dim lights of the club bathroom. Attentive and deep and _charged._ He almost hesitated- they were so close, one arm could easily have reached around his neck, pushed him to the wall, _have you right here, right now_ \- but his legs, obviously directed by something else, probably his stomach, resolutely kept going toward’s Fouass’s room.

He then realised that he wasn’t breathing and slowly let out a sigh, difficult, because he felt Max’s eyes on him. _Stomach, I promise I’ll feed you, just let me have him before he disappears again_.

It grumbled in response.

He stopped against Fouass’s door and leaned his ear against it. Only snoring. Slowly he reached up and put his arm on the door handle, turning. He felt the slightest of tugs on his jacket and jolted, but Max’s eyes were only enquiring if he’d done this before. _The reaction would have been worse_ , he decided, _if that had been my skin, and not through my jacket_. _Ohhh_. His pelvis gave and involuntary twitch.

 _Stay there, I mean it_. It was partly to Max, and partly to his crotch. He leaned down and took off his shoes, placing them beside the door. He carefully stepped inside. Both Fouass and Fufu were asleep, tangled in their duvets. Lucky. Fouass’s case was lying open beside his bed and the kilo mutli-pack of granola bars was propped beside it. Knowing rightly he wouldn’t be counting, and they’d be gone by the end of the week anyway. How many times had Morgan done this? He filled his pockets and backed out the door again, closing it behind him silently.

Max was standing there, impassive, waiting. When Morgan turned around, his face broke into an enormous smile, and his eyes smiled again too and Morgan’s knees knocked- so he dropped to the floor with the pretence of putting on his shoes, rifling through his pockets and emptying his prize on the floor.

 _Take_.

He reached for one himself and undid it, and ate it entirely in one mouthful. His stomach warmed. _There, happy?_

The lack of response was all he needed. Satisfied, he reached for a second, only to see Max had slid to the ground across the hall, slowly unwrapping one himself.

Morgan froze mid grab, Max didn’t notice. Morgan’s eyes riveted on Max’s jaw, the dusting of several-day beard, the light reflecting off his moist lips, as his teeth sank carefully into the slab of over processed oats. Morgan felt that, all the way down to his pants. _Oh jeez_. They began to strain as he slowly went hard, watching Max chew. _I’m watching him chew, and this is turning me on._

He suddenly regained control of his limbs and snatched a second bar. He purposely avoided eye-contact, but he could almost feel Max halting and frowning, confused, and then, slowly, swallowing.

 _Swallowing_.

Morgan tore at the next packet, although his appetite was gone.

“Stop.”

It was the first word either of them had uttered in this strange encounter, and it came from the other side of the corridor to Morgan. He looked up. Max was reaching out.

_What is he- Ohmigod-towards-me-_

“You’ve got crumbs. Everywhere,” said Max quietly. Morgan heard the soft, sing-song element to his accent. _Bordeaux_. “Here...” He brushed the outside of his knuckles down Morgan’s cheek. Morgan trembled. It was all he could do to not come on the spot. But Max must feel it, or at least notice his eyes widening. Gently, still leaning forward, he was running his thumb over Morgan’s top lip. And then he brought his knuckles down Morgan’s other cheek. Morgan struggled not to let his jaw slack. He wanted to kiss all those fingers.

Max’s fingers came to a stop at the bottom of his chin.

“Better,” he murmured. Morgan could barely take it. The moisture on his lips... so close... he was almost leaning forward.

Max’s eyes cast downwards, and he started to withdraw his hand.

 _Desperate times_ , Morgan told himself, and he leaned in and placed his lips on Max’s. His mouth warmed, and he leaned forward some more and stretched out his arm so his fingers could grasp Max’s hair. He breathed out, properly. Slowly, he traced Max’s jaw with his nose, down to his neck, just to the base, by his shoulder blade, kissing the skin gently. _Wonderful._ He unsheathed his teeth. He felt fingers grip his shirt, so he moved his lips back up to Max’s, repositioning them, tasting all of Max’s mouth. _Sweet_. He felt the slight scratch of facial hair against his chin. He tried again, slowly. _Respond._ Max’s hand dropped from Morgan’s neck to his thigh. _He can feel me._ Morgan moved his lips again, more forcefully, and Max’s parted. Squirming, he pushed Max back against the wall, letting his tongue enter his mouth, feeling his opposite’s entering his, gently, slowly, warily, caressing. Despite himself, he let out a strangled moan and shifted his weight forward, _Deeper_.

Suddenly, as he moved, it was as if his injured thigh disagreed and suddenly it contracted. Painfully.

“Ow! Argh...” His hands released Max’s face as he fell back to grab his leg. Tears began to sting the sides of his eyes. Fucking ow.

 _His dick is not worth your career_.

 _Shut the fuck up_.

“Morgan.” He stiffened. His muscles contracted painfully again and he swore.

“Morgan,” Max repeated his name, softly. Morgan could never remember him using it before. It sounded so lovely in his mouth. He squeezed his eyes open and looked up.

Max looked afraid. Not only did he look afraid, he looked almost annoyed. His expression was... hard.

_Look at the flush in his cheeks, you did that._

“Morgan,” his voice was quiet, _if you say my name again I might not be able to take it_ , “we were drunk.”

It took Morgan a minute to understand what Max was trying to say. His eyes widened.

“In fact, I’m never that drunk. What happened... it won’t again.”

Morgan stared at him, dumbstruck. “What?” he finally managed to croak out the word. He didn’t understand. Did he not enjoy it? He definitely did, was he denying it? Was Morgan not good enough? A fiery spear pierced his stomach. Did he have someone else? Was that it? Was that why he’d left?

Max’s expression hardened again. _Probably as a result of my confusion_. “It was a once-off.”

Could he have made it sound any more harsh.

“I don’t... why? Was it not...” _Why has it not had the same effect on you? It’s shattering my life._

Max ran his fingers through his mad hair, pushing it back from his face. Morgan saw the oriental symbols tattooed under his arm.

“No,” he said finally, “it won’t happen again.” He reached out and picked up two more bars from the floor, and then he pulled himself to his feet. “Thanks for these. I’ll see you later.”

He slowly turned and walked back down the corridor, to what must have been his room.

_Why are you letting him go? Fight for him!_

_His dick is not worth my career._

_But you want to hold him, you want to feel him. You want to make love to him. So stop him!_

_But if this is what he wants... I... can’t._

Max disappeared from view. And something inside Morgan shattered.

***

An hour later when Kay’s alarm finally went off, Morgan refused to untangle himself from his bedcovers.

“Time to get up, m’boy,” he felt a pillow smack into the side of his duvet.

Morgan wasn’t exactly one for sulking, but right now he could not face the world. _No. I refuse_.

He heard the shower running.

_He doesn’t want me._

He buried his head further in to his sheets.

_What am I going to do?_

He was going to have to make himself wanted. How could he possibly do that? 


	4. Four

As always in Marcoussis, the days flew. They were always kept busy during the day and night time was most definitely for sleeping. Morgan’s leg, despite the episode in the corridor, was recovering well- better than expected, and by Tuesday he was running on it. He wasn’t in combat training with the others just yet, which was good. He was still getting over it.

During the day was fine. During the day when he was busy, listening and improving, he could block Max from his head. He was just another player. In the evenings, he sat at another table and did everything he could to keep his face trained in the other direction.  He played cards with his usual buddies before going to his room and Skyping home, and messing on the internet for a few hours.

By Tuesday night, he’d decided that he was well and truly over it. Rejection was what he’d needed for him to come to his senses. Focused Morgan was back.

That was until Brice Dulin sat down opposite him at dinner.

He’d been picking at his spaghetti- not the caterer’s greatest by any means- and watching Maxime Mermoz sneaking small pieces in to Damien Chouly’s hair further down the table, smiling despite himself. Mermoz saw his expression and winked, eyes glinting.

“Hi Morgan!” Morgan looked up, startled, at the crazy bundle of energy suddenly sitting across the table from him. There was plenty of space, everyone had gone up for seconds, but Morgan was a slow eater. Morgan stopped, nodding, his mouth full of pasta. He had barely had a chance to chat to Brice since he’d arrived.

“Brice! What’s-“

“We need to talk,” Brice cut across him, smiling in that very lop-sided way of his, “about Max.”

The pasta caught in Morgan’s throat as he coughed. “What?!”

Brice’s grin widened at Morgan’s reaction. “I want to know how you feel about him.”

_Mostly that I want to feel_ around _him._

“He’s-“ Morgan coughed, “fine. Nice guy, but I don’t actually know him that well.” _What is going on? Did Max say something? Are they laughing at me?_

Brice paused with his fork halfway to his mouth and raised a suspicious eyebrow. “Listen,” he said after he’d swallowed, “Max is my best friend. I always know things without him even having to tell me. So, no- he hasn’t mentioned it. You’re doing a pretty good job of keeping it under wraps yourself. Kudos.” He fished through his food and swallowed another mouthful. “Yum, spaghetti.” He made a face. “So, Monsieur Parra, how do you regard my roommate?”

“How do I...” Morgan stared, dumbstruck. _How do I feel about Max? I don’t even know how I feel about Max. Is this emotion? Or is it lust? All I know is I want to feel him against me again. I want to breathe him. I want my hands lost in his hair. I want to feel him hard against me. I want to be able to caress him, anywhere, anyhow. I want to have him, three hundred different ways. I want to hear his voice and his lips against my ear as he whispers to me. My teeth miss his skin._ The back of his throat ached. _I want his cock._

But all he could do was shrug and break Dulin’s stare.

_But it was only one night. And I barely remember it. I don’t even think that he does._

“Man...” Brice was whispering. “So it’s like that, huh? I wish I knew what had happened between you. Maybe then I could help.”

Morgan looked up again. _Help?_

Brice was stabbing at his meatballs. When he saw Morgan’s face he sighed. “You’re both so uptight about it. I don’t know why you’re both holding back, because you are so obviously mad to get into each other’s pants.”

Morgan choked again on his pasta. _Max is what?_

“You heard me.”

“He said he doesn’t want me.” The words fell out of Morgan’s mouth before he could stop them, or at the least, censor them. “He said what... what we did... it’s not what he does normally. And that it won’t be happening again. It will never happen again.”

Morgan realised how desperate he sounded, as Brice eyed him up, chewing slowly. “Okay, so it’s not you. Well, that clears a lot up.” He picked up his tray. “Never fear, _mon petit_ ,” he cracked a winning smile again, “I will get to the bottom of this. Don’t lose hope.” And he walked off again.

Morgan’s muscles clenched. There was no way he could have finished what was in front of him now. _It’s not me. He wants me too. Brice said it. He wants me too_. He was giddy. _I might get to feel him again. I might get to feel him again_. His stomach was doing flips in anticipation.

_That kid is lying. He is so much older than me._

“Morgan!” Wes arrived back at the table and elbowed him. “I’m guessing you still have cards in your room right?”

“We’re going to try and reform last year’s poker club,” Tzar drawled, arriving seconds later. “Wes is dead keen.”

“Wes is dead keen for everything.” This time Wes’ elbow found his ribs. “Ow, hey- _not what I meant_!”

“He wouldn’t be far off though would he, eh?” Tzar chuckled, setting his plate down. Wes glared at him as everyone suddenly looked elsewhere, smiling to themselves- after several shots Wes had a reputation for getting stuck into anything with a pulse. “Hope you are well stocked up on _Pepitos_ this time, Morgan. I’m playing for revenge.”

They’d given up betting money a while ago- no one ever had change and besides, there was nothing to spend it on- and so instead they bet on pretty much whatever they had lying around in their rooms: biscuits, sweets, sugar packets, small cartons of long-life milk. Morgan made a mental note to buy plenty of Tzar’s favourite chocolate covered biscuits in Paris the next day.

“Never. And I know you always bring Madelines, so don’t try and pretend you don’t this year. Who else do we have?” he asked.

“You gonna eat that?” Wes interrupted, pointing to Morgan’s now-cold food.

“You literally just had seconds.” But Morgan’s stomach was preoccupied, and he shoved his food in Wes’ direction. Dinner was pretty much over, everyone was getting up and moving on to do something else with their evening- the seats at FIFA were already gone, and several grumbling shapes were already making their way towards the physio room.  “Will I go and get the cards now?” But he was already getting to his feet. He couldn’t even watch the others eat, so disgustingly complicated was the knot in his stomach.

He plodded upstairs, trying to remember where he could have left the small deck of cards- with “Welcome to Wellington” on the back, which said just how much he’d used them when he was out there. Other card games had come and gone, but this probably came up trumps because it was the least violent and most competitive.

_Yes, least violent_. He still had scarred fingers from when they’d last played Spoons.

He heard raised voices on his corridor, pulling him out of that trail of thought.

_Damien? Mermoz?_

Suddenly they came into view. Morgan felt the pressure of a very hostile environment, and he began backing up. Damn the cards, this was an argument he could already tell that he didn’t want to be a part of.

“... I don’t understand why you just can’t act your fucking age sometimes!” Whoa, Damien was angry. Morgan was guessing he’d just discovered the unwanted dinner in his hair.

“I was bored! We are all bored! Just go and wash your hair and fucking forget about it already!” Mermoz was equally harsh back.

“Bored? What are you, five? And it was last night too- and, argh! Look, just eat your fucking food. It’s not that hard.” Damien ran his fingers through his hair.

“Yeah, coz I’m just so impossible to put up with, right?” Mermoz hissed. “Go annoy someone else, yeah?”

“Maybe I fucking will.”

“Well I think you fucking should.”

They had started squaring up to each other. Despite what he’d suggested to himself earlier, Morgan had been rooted to the spot. He’d never seen Chouly angry. Ever. And he saw him every day in Clermont. Max was taking it very well, Morgan would have dug a hole and buried himself in it by now.

But of course Mermoz could take him. They had been best friends since they’d played with each other in Perpignan and were still inseparable despite playing in opposite ends of the country. They shared a room, they ate together, they spent their days off together, and they sat next to each other on the bus. Chouly just didn’t come without Mermoz.

As mildly fascinating as this anger was, though, maybe Morgan should just go and get someone who could intervene here.

But then Damien snorted angrily, and turned, marching in the other direction.

“Hey, we aren’t done here!” Mermoz was screaming after him. “Get the fuck back!”

“Stay the fuck away from me.” Something had changed in Chouly’s tone. He sounded like he meant it.

Ohhh, Morgan felt that one. As, evidently, did Mermoz.

“Chou?” he squeaked. And he scampered after him. “Chou, I-“, he reached out to grab Chouly’s arm, but it lashed out and just missed his face. “Stop, _please_.”

_He sounds... scared._

Damien slowed to a stop, obviously realising he’d dished out more hurt than he’d intended. Mermoz rounded on him. And then he laid his hands on both sides of Chouly’s face. Damien’s stance softened.

“Never leave me.” There was no hiding the panic in his voice.

“You know that’s not what I meant.” Damien’s voice was gentle, Morgan could barely hear him.

“Never leave me.” Their foreheads were touching.

Morgan’s jaw had dropped out of all proportions.

_Yeah, they’re best friends,_ he thought, _but...I did not see THIS coming._

“You know how long I waited for you.” Damien had reached up and pulled Mermoz closer by the waist.

“I’m sorry.”

“I waited too long for you; to let you go over some badly placed complex carbohydrates.”

They both smiled at each other and Morgan could feel a lump rising in his throat. Oh wow. There were some serious feelings here.

“You’re too good for me.”

“I love you, silly.”

Morgan felt like couldn’t watch them kiss for very long. He felt like he was invading in this special Chouly-Mermoz bubble, a universe that only the two of them were part of where everything was pink and fluffy and they could just concentrate on each other. Truth was, he just couldn’t bring himself to look away.

_It’s just the two of them. What they feel like, what they taste like..._

Max entered his head.

_It’s not fair._

Morgan finally found enough feeling in his limbs to turn and walk back down the corridor.

And inevitably his brain stayed on Max. His Max.

_My Max._

_It’s working for them. They are so happy. They could forgive so easily. He was so afraid to lose him._

_It can work. It has worked. We could work._

What Chouly had said kept filling his head.

“I waited too long for you”.

_That has to be the most romantic crap I’ve ever heard. But they’ve known each other for so long. I wonder how long he waited. I wonder how it happened._

Yet, it wasn’t exactly something you just _asked_.

_How long could I wait for Max?_ The inevitable question had been there.

_But do I feel like that about him? The thought of him makes me want... so many things. But those two are on another level altogether._

_And our longest conversation so far has been in silence._

He felt like he’d been gifted a small ray of perspective from that short scene of unbridled passion. His turmoil had lasted a month, most of which he had qualified himself as “officially over it”. _I cannot possibly qualify that as a long time either. I’m crying over nothing really._

He had to face facts _._

_This is a sex thing. I don’t think it’s... more._

_Do I?_

_But then again, what’s so wrong with both?_

It wasn’t until he’d reached the common room again that he realised he’d forgotten the cards.


	5. Five

“Max, it’s nearly one a.m. Where have you been? Ow, my eyes!”

“Michel and I took a walk. He was telling me about Durban and I wanted to go through our strategy again for Saturday.”

Max had switched the light on. Well, Brice was awake now.

“Is that... why are you boiling the kettle?! What does a man have to do to get a little sleep around here?”

“Coffee.”

“You’ll never sleep.”

“I’ll sleep.” He always slept. One thing Max would never have problems with, was insomnia. He brought his cup over and sat down at the end of Brice’s bed. “How was _Pretty Women?_ ”

“Richard Gere’s a sissy.” Brice sat up. “And Michel texted me when he got back an hour ago. So where were you?”

“Nowhere in particular, _Maman_. Just clearing my head. And we have tomorrow off, so it doesn’t matter.”

Brice snorted. “Enjoy the signing. I, on the other hand, will be wandering the _Musee d’Orsay_ and soaking in the Renoir. Or strolling the _Galerie Lafayette_. Or wandering the city streets aimlessly _because I’m taking my day off as a day off_.”

Max just shrugged. “I do it every day, remember. _I live there_.”

He could feel Brice rolling his eyes at him as he drained his cup and started taking off his shoes and climbing into his own bed.

“So...” Brice began casually, “I was... talking to Morgan earlier.”

Max yawned. “’Suppose you had to do something with your time since I wasn’t at dinner.”

“Max. Give it up. Bone him.”

“Excuse me?”

“Look at me, dude.” Max squeezed his eyes shut in frustration before rolling over to face the accusatory stare of his roommate. “I know. Okay? I had sort of guessed, and Morgan confirmed it.”

Max stared at him for a long time. He could lie, but what did Brice know? The kid was too clever, he’d have figured it out. He carefully answered. “So?”

“So? _So_? The big news is that he is insanely nuts for and after you.”

“And?”

“ _And?_ ”

Max shuffled uncomfortably and pulled his sheets closer around himself. “So... we might have hooked up when Clermont played us in September.”

“Might have? Either you did or you didn’t.”

“I... got really drunk after the game. And I hadn’t been drinking, I was on antibiotics!”

“The effects of drinking while on that sort of medication are a myth, you know.”

“Eh, regardless. Someone obviously spiked me. I have never, _ever_ been that bad before. First we’re beating each other up in the club toilets, and next thing it’s the morning and he’s lying all over me in my bed.”

Brice raised an eyebrow.

“Naked,” Max added pointedly.

“And you don’t remember anything else.”

“Nothing else.” _Liar_.

Brice rubbed his eyes and was silent for a while.

“You’re such a liar,” he said finally.

Max sucked his teeth.

“You haven’t managed to get laid since. You take long walks at night “to clear your head”. Before you never shut up about the guy and now you never, never, _ever_ mention him, or talk to him, or look at him. You’re an extreme kind of bloke, but that’s just nuts for you.”

Max just glared at him.

“I had no idea where the moodiness came from- yes, yes you have been a bit of a moody bitch since we got here- until that morning you came back with the granola bars. White as a sheet, not even a word on where they came from. Then, I saw the hickey on your neck when you went to take your t-shirt off to shower.”

 _Why was I so careless_. _Why did I let him near me with his teeth._

“And then I was like, okay, my roomie is busy getting down with _someone_ , obviously in a way I haven’t noticed. And then all the way through breakfast that morning, you’re looking everywhere except the back of his head. And then I was like, that’s kind of weird. But then I notice that you avoid him. Yes, you do- don’t look at me like that. You stand at the other side of the room from him. You always look the other way. You’re going out of the way to pretend that he isn’t there. And he’s not displaying the same kind of courtesy. So what’s up? And then, I asked him tonight. And it took all of two seconds for him to confirm my suspicions.”

Max continued to stare, unblinking, at the pained expression now rapidly forming on Brice’s face.

“He wants you, Max.”

“I don’t want him.”

“He said you told him that, alright.”

“Well, I don’t.”

“But you do. Look how miserable you are.”

“I’m not miserable and I don’t want him.” It came out harsh.

“Max-“

“Nothing happened, okay? _Nothing_. That’s not what I’m in to. He’s a great scrum-half, but so am I, and we’re competing for the same place and that’s all.”

“Max, I-“

“I don’t know the guy at all.”

“Yes, but-“

“And he seems like a dick anyways, if he hadn’t started on me in the club none of this would have happened-“

 _“Ta_ _gueule, Max_!” He stopped. Brice rubbed his face again. “I only say these things because you’re my best friend and I want to see you happy, but also because I want to put him out of his misery. Max, he is _suffering_. I think maybe he even loves you.”

Max slowly closed his suddenly slack jaw, and then pulled the covers up over his head. _No_.

“And I’m taking his side on this one. Not because I think you feel the same. But I think you could eventually, and I think you want to.”

Max resolutely kept his head hidden.

“Now in the morning, I’m going to get up, and we’re going to pretend we never had this conversation. I just want to make sure I’ve made you think about it.”

Max heard covers moving as Brice got out of bed and then everything went darker as he hit the light.

“Good night, Max.”

And he was left alone in his thoughts.

_No, no, no. No. No, no, no, no, no, NO._


	6. Six

Being present in the Adidas shop on the Champs-Elysees the next morning would have certainly been an experience for anyone with the ability to read minds.

Morgan had arrived late- preoccupied. He’d spend the bus journey up watching Chouly and Mermoz, in the most nonchalant and unsuspecting way possible. He was still getting over the shock of the day before. Not that it was bad shock.

But it was still shock.

And he noticed it now. Their hands lingered on each other for a few milliseconds longer than for everyone else. They never took their eyes off each other. And one stage they wrestled over Mermoz’s phone but once it had been won they kept the stance up for several more minutes. Once off the bus they headed in the same direction without a word of invitation to anyone and after several meters their hands intertwined.

Morgan marvelled after them. If keeping a relationship under-wraps and yet still displaying a nauseating amount of PDA was an art, they deserved every award going.

_No wonder we never noticed before._

He was watching them blend so intently that he almost missed Philippe calling him.

“Morgan! Tsar can’t come to the Adidas signing today, one of his little ones is sick and he’s going to go home. Would you mind filling in for him?”

“Uh...” he turned his body in the direction of his coach but his eyes didn’t follow. “Sure.”

“Are you free?”

Morgan suddenly realised what he was being asked.

“Um, yeah. I mean, sorry- yes I am. Totally free. I don’t mind.”

Morgan couldn’t remember if he had plans or not.

“The rest are already headed in that direction- thanks so much for this.”

Morgan plodded after his coach- the bus had stopped right outside the shop- and headed inside, was ushered into the changing room, changed his shirt into one of the shop’s own, ushered back out, up to the top of the shop past long queues of people and to the end of the table where he sat down-

Next to Max.

***

Thirty seconds earlier and Max had seen him walking through the shop and was beginning to feel the same strain of emotion.

 _No. Not him. Is this a joke? Anyone but him. Why him_.

His fingers gripped the fabric of his jeans, clenching into fists.

_No. No. No._

_“I don’t think that you feel that way. But I think you could. And I think you want to.”_

_Shut UP Brice, you’re not even here and you’re ruining my day._

Morgan’s face was emotionless, almost blank, as it was normally in his everyday, concentrated stance- mouth set, eyebrows slightly furrowed, slightly frustrated, but not quite.

 _I’ve seen emotion on it_.

When he drinks too much, yes.

_Not the first instance that popped into your head just there, though, was it?_

Morgan had sat down and turned as if he’d just realised Max was there.

 _Be nice_ , he warned himself. _You are in public._

So he smiled like he was genuinely happy to see him.

“So, they got you in as the replacement... so.”

_You said “so” twice._

His knuckles were going white from where they gripped his jeans.

 _“Bone him_.” Brice’s voice danced in his ears.

_How long am I going to have to fucking sit here._

***

Morgan could not even smile back. Breathing would be too obvious, so he held his breath in a desperate attempt to steady his pulse. He tasted him with his olfactory cells.

_I can smell him from here. I can’t do this._

***

Philippe had sat down the other side of Morgan.

“This is good you know, that you’re both here working together,” he turned to face the two of them, handing them felt-tipped pens for signing the shirts and rugby balls that would be flying their way throughout the afternoon. “Then everyone can see that you actually do get on. The press thinks you hate each other.”

 _Are you actually for real, Big P,_ Max managed a grin as he accepted the pen. _I cannot believe that you chose, of all things, to just say that._

***

That afternoon was excruciating, as it had promised to be. Early on Morgan had managed to plaster on some sort of face and his hand managed to follow the same confident and fluid movement that it normally did as he smiled smile after smile and looped signature after signature.

If this was in any way bothering to Max he didn’t show it, in fact, Morgan soon realised that when it came to influencing people, Max in his own way was a pro. While Morgan was all confidence and questions and loud laughs, Max was shier- ruffling younger children’s hair, sweet grins and soft chuckles. Morgan would have even said slightly nervous at first, but he won everyone who spoke to him over instantly.

_Just like you did with me._

As the day got longer he couldn’t help but spent longer amounts of time sneaking glances at him, his hair curling gently around the edges of his face, the way his shirt strained against the muscles in his arm, his jersey tugging against his frame, how his teeth slightly pulled against his lips and his eyes creased every time he smiled.

 _I’m sure I’ve watched you do it four hundred times today, but I could easily watch it four hundred more_ , Morgan thought about the last.

_You are perfect. You are more perfect than perfect. I want you._

***

Max felt like he was facing a fear he never knew he had. He felt like he was standing at the edge of a bridge to bungee jump. At the doorway of a plane about to parachute. Starting to dial the numbers to make any sort of “grown up” phone call. About to walk out onto the pitch for his first start against Argentina. About to come on as a substitute for his first professional game in Bordeaux.

 _All of that. All together. Times a million_.

It didn’t help how long the day stretched. And how long he had to think about it.

His conversation with Brice the night before had been a constant presence. The feeling of waking up wrapped around Morgan was another. The feeling that he had just been... well used. But he still hadn’t figured if that was positive or negative feeling.

Every fake joke they shared at that table in front of the seemingly endless hoard of adoring public was like another bungee cord snapping.

 _There we go, that’s it. Let’s run with this analogy. I am in danger of falling hard and fast into the abyss_. _And there a wall of water waiting for me to smack into below. The further I keep him away from me, the stronger the cord gets. He is the wall of water._

It was one way of rationalizing things to himself.

_I can’t because that would ultimately be more painful, so much worse than what we’re both going through now._

_You are a terrible, terrible poet_ , Brice’s voice said smarmily. _And you also just said you’re both going through it. I declare victory._

***

It was over and Morgan was finally free to get up and leave. Unfortunately. Max had darted up and left in deep conversation with one of the photographers almost as instantly as the queue had ended.

 _Doesn’t bother me. Nope._ Philippe was asking if he was going to do anything in particular in the last hour he had left of freedom before it was back to Marcatraz. Only he wasn’t saying it quite like that.

He suddenly remembered the _Pepitos_ he had to stock up on for a week’s worth of poker. And a McDonalds always went down well.

Well, it was his day off, after all.

The lights began to shut off at the back of the shop and it hit him that that was where he’d left his clothes. It would be too obvious showing up queuing in McDonalds with this on.

He had pulled his phone out to text after Fouass’ whereabouts and to shed some light on the situation, it really was dark, and pulled back the curtain into the changing room when suddenly he was face-to-face with a very topless Max.

He assumed he was just shirtless. His phone at this angle only illuminated as far as the tops of his shoulders but even that was... ohhhh, mouth watering.

“Oh, Morgan.” Max was squinting against the sudden light. “Changing in here, I’ll be done in a sec, okay?”

_Smile. Apologise. Close the curtain. Walk away._

If he had been faced with this moment all of five minutes ago, after several hours of restraint, Morgan may have been able to pull it off. As things stood, thanks to the several minutes of respite, there was no way that could be possible.

In the time it took for his phone to fall to the floor- plunging them into almost darkness as it clattered to a halt- he had reached out and pulled a startled Max towards him by the belt loops on his jeans. Their lips slammed together, silencing Max’s mew of surprise, and Morgan felt himself melt as he folded around Max’s stockier frame.

Max’s lips were as soft and as initially unwelcoming as he’d remembered them- _it’s like coming home_ , thought Morgan, his chest beginning to swell. _Well hello, emotion. Feel free now to take over._

After several squirms of protest, Max’s resistance crumbled a lot faster than he expected and this realisation sent thrilling shivers up Morgan’s spine. Max’s mouth opened, letting him in, and he moved his hands up- around Max’s back so he could feel the muscles on his shoulder blades moving under skin, and to the back of his head- winding his fingers through tangles of hair and forcing him deeper into the kiss.

Morgan let his nails sink in. He didn’t care if it hurt. It always hurt. Now wasn’t the time for being gentle- this may not last much longer, and he wanted to take as much of Max away from it as he could. Even if that was under his fingernails.

Morgan’s lips tingled as Max caught them between his teeth as they kissed. Again, and again, pressing slightly harder each time.

Morgan traced his fingers down the crevice of Max’s back until he reached his hips, fingers dancing around until they met the hair growing just above his waistband. Before Max had time to react, Morgan pulled at the elastic, plunging his hands below, feeling Max rising to meet him.

_This is it. This is what I remember._

Max’s teeth clamped down harder as Morgan began to gently manipulate him with his fingers. Max’s hips tilted upwards, pushing against Morgan’s caress.

_So you do want this. Ow._

He could taste blood in his mouth and gave an involuntary shudder when Max finally went weak and groaned against him- a sound he had been waiting so long to hear.

_This is how I remember you felt._

He felt hands come to rest on his hips. He pulled him closer again. _Hold me_.

But it was as if Max had snapped out of it. He laid his hands on Morgan’s shoulders and prised him away; one hand had reached down and pulled Morgan away from... there.

“No,” it came out of Morgan’s mouth like a strangled sob, and he tried again, clawing at his skin and kissing him more desperately this time. But Max stood firm, he unhooked Morgan’s fingers from his and brought them back down to his sides.

Morgan opened his eyes, forgetting how dark it was. And that was when he realised that his phone was buzzing loudly on the floor.

“Aren’t you going to get that?” Max whispered. The flashes from his phone were illuminating the room like bolts of lightning.

If this is what had made Max stop he sure as hell would strangle whoever was at the other end of the line.

“No. No I am not,” he said forcefully.

“I have to go.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do.”

“NO, YOU DO NOT. MAXIME. MACHENAUD.” Morgan twisted his hands and now gripped Max’s wrists.

“You are going nowhere until you explain,” he hissed. “You are going nowhere until you explain to me what just happened.”

“Is that a trick question? Your phone’s still ringing.”

At this the vibrating on the floor beside their feet stopped.

“Gee, I hope that wasn’t important.”

“I’m being fucking serious. That was not...” he suddenly remembered that he had to breathe, “That didn’t feel like you never wanted it to happen again.”

Max’s mood changed.

“You know where I stand, Morgan. You surprised me, that’s all. Nothing has changed- it didn’t mean anything.”

Morgan didn’t know how to answer that, although he wasn’t quite as devastated as he’d thought he might be, which led him to believe that he’d half-excepted that response.

_You knew I how much I liked you biting my lip. You remembered and you used it. That has to mean something._

_And Brice said it. Brice said you want me._

“Can we at least try to be civil to each other in public,” Max continued. “We can actually be friends. This doesn’t mean I hate you.”

 _It might as well_.

And then he remembered Chouly.

***

That’s when he said the three words that Max had really hoped he wouldn’t say.

“I can wait.”

_Agh, no. No you can’t. This is bad._

“Don’t. I won’t change my mind.”

_Lies._

“It would be worse otherwise. Please. I need you.”

_Don’t say that. We both know that. But you’re better off without me. I have to make you realise. I have to hurt you._

“Oh, come on. Stop. One night, we got drunk, but I can’t remember how far we went. Which is good, because this is just not what I do. Besides, this isn’t the Phantom of the fucking Opera,” he spat. He pushed Morgan away, “I am never going to want you like that.”

Silence.

 _Lies_. _So many lies._

Morgan’s phone began to vibrate again, lighting up the dark space, casting shadows over Morgan’s face- how one forehead could have so many lines- and Max wished suddenly that he couldn’t see the startled look in his eyes.

 _I’m sorry. That hurt. I’m sorry_. Max was already regretting saying it. Heck, Max was already regretting stopping him when he’d had such a hold on him. Literally. _You had me there. You had me entirely._ _That was so close. I almost broke._

There was blood running down Morgan’s chin from a cut on his lower lip. Max blocked the memory of what had made him bite down so hard.

He pulled his sweater over his head and scooped up the rest of his belongings, marching resolutely past him, out of the changing room, into the lights of the front of the shop, out into the cool Parisian evening, down the long wide street until he found a bench where he could collapse with his head in his hands. His knees still shook slightly from the after effects of what he had let Morgan’s fingers do.

***

It was almost amazing how Brice had figured it out by the next morning.

“What did he do to you,” he hissed in his ear as they made their way to the common room for the team announcement after breakfast.

The team announcement. For the match. The match Max almost forgot they were having.

“What did what do to whom? Ow!”

Brice’s hand had connected hard with his ear.

“Don’t play stupid with me, stupid. If he forced you do stuff he shouldn’t have I swear I will SKIN him”.

“No,” Max suddenly panicked. “No, it wasn’t that.”

“Ditto if you didn’t want it on top of all that.”

“Bri-ice! Stop. It’s no big deal. And by stop I mean quit being a perceptive little git.”

“You are my bro, and if he hurt you, and I say that’s a big deal, it’s a bit deal,” Brice grumbled.

 _I think the other way around would be more accurate_.

They sat down in sudden silence with the rest of the group in the chairs step up like a conference room. The Big P was beginning his speech about his goals for these tests, about the threat of the Australian team, yadda, yadda, yadda...

Brice leaned forward with the pretence of tying his shoelace.

“Maybe I should be asking what exactly you did to HIM.”

Max risked a glance in Parra’s direction, but he only looked as uninterested and passive as usual. Bar a slight red tinge around his mouth. And a small cut on his lower lip. And he didn’t look like he’s slept very much.

_But, really, he could have got that anywhere._

“Nothing.”

“It doesn’t seem like nothing.”

Philippe began reading out the team sheet, “So, at _numero un,_ Doming... _deux_ , Tsar...”

Max shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “He came on to me in the changing rooms after the signing.”

Brice looked up, his eyes suddenly excited. “Did you let him?”

“ _Cinq,_ Pascal... _six_...”

Max bit his lip.

“Maybe a little.”

“The walls went up again, didn’t they?”

Max closed his eyes. “Yeah.”

“Oh, come on, Max. Again? Why?“

“I’m really not comfortable having this conversation right now.”

“ _... huit,_ Loulou...”

Max swallowed, “I just-“

“... _neuf,_ Max. Max Machenaud...”

He jumped. Brice sat back up as well. Philippe was beaming at him from the front of the room. Everyone’s head swivelled to look at him. The new boy who got the big job. And then everyone’s head inevitably swivelled towards Morgan. Until Philippe began again: “ _dix..._ ”

Morgan avoided his eyes. He wasn’t sulking. But he looked hurt.

_Please stop looking like an abused puppy. You are not an abused puppy. Urgh, Morgan- look at me! You are effectively my sporting hero. You will come back from this. I’m sorry. Again._

“It’s not fair to toy with him,” Brice was following his gaze. “You need to take the leap or he’s going to move on. And if he does it’ll hurt you more than I think you realise.”

Max tore his eyes back to the front of the room. “Oh, please.”

“For real. I don’t know why you’re pushing him away, but you gotta stop.”

“ _Quinze..._ Brice Dulin!”

The two of them looked at each other as though finally realising what this would mean. Brice shouldn’t have been surprised, Max realised, he honestly deserved it. But he grinned and pulled him into an affectionate headlock all the same.


	7. Seven

It took Max a minute to realise that the _thing_ half hanging out of the bush and also spewing a horrible mix of pizza and cider onto the sidewalk was Morgan. And he yelped.

Brice stopped and followed his gaze.

“Is that..?”

“Think so.”

“A very happy birthday to you, too.”

They both stopped and stared at... it.

“Where’s everyone else? This guy clearly needs twenty-four hour surveillance.”

For a few more seconds they watched as Morgan lay panting in his own vomit. Max wrinkled his nose.

“Stop it. We can’t all be as nit-picky as you.”

“We should go back inside and get someone to mind him.”

“Are you nuts? They’re worse. No, let’s bring him home with us.”

“But I want an early night,” Max pouted, “I don’t want to have to stay up on sick-watch.”

Brice glared at him and Max relented. Cautiously the two of them approached. Morgan must’ve heard them, because he looked up and broke into a smile that your average toddler would have been proud of. He stretched sticky hands out and grasped onto Max’s trouser leg, pulling it towards him so he could cuddle into Max’s ankle.

Max looked at Brice, exasperated. “What exactly has he been drinking?”

But Brice was shaking with mirthless laughter. “Your face!”

“More like my suit! Shut up and help me. C’mon, Morgan,” his voice softened as he bent down and hoisted him to his feet, “let’s get you home.” _Help me!_ He mouthed at Brice, who dove in and grabbed Morgan’s other arm just before he collapsed on top of Max.

“Max...” Morgan murmured, and leaned sideways, dragging Brice with him, and nuzzled Max’s neck. Then he muttered something else that neither of them could understand.

“Maybe it’s Dalek,” Brice offered unhelpfully.

“Ugh, I now have Parra sick in my hair.”

Morgan seemed quite happy to move wherever Max was going and somehow they managed to stagger along in their strange threesome and make it back towards the main compound, inside, up the steps and towards Morgan’s room.

“Can you remember if Kay was still in the club?”

“I hope to God he’s here.”

Kay was nowhere to be seen when they opened the door and switched the light on. They shuffled Morgan towards the bathroom. At the sight of the shower, Morgan doubled over and was promptly sick again, Brice and Max just about getting out of the way.

“At least he missed the carpet.”

“Wouldn’t want to explain _that_ to the cleaning ladies.”

“Will you fetch me his towel? I’m going to attempt to clean him up before we put him in bed.”

He stepped over the puddle of puke in the middle of the floor and sat down on the toilet lid.

“Come on Morgan, over here, that’s it...”

He lifted Morgan’s jumper over his head and started undoing the buttons on his shirt. Morgan giggled and rested his cheek against Max’s knee.

“Max, are we going to _do it_?” Max made a point of ignoring him, throwing his filthy shirt into the bath beside his jumper and reaching for a face cloth by the sink.

“Are we going to do it _again_?” Morgan was overcome by giggles, and he began tracing patterns on the fabric of Max’s pants.

“Oh, Max, you dirty girl!” He heard Brice simper mockingly from outside the bathroom. He strangled him with his mind.

.He checked that the water wasn’t too cold before he wet the cloth and slowly began wiping down Morgan’s face and teasing the chunks of food out of his hair. Morgan really had managed to get sick all over himself, Max was almost marvelling as he ran the cloth down his face, down his neck, the front of his chest, the smattering of dark hair covering the muscles that-

 _No, Max._ He shook his head. _Task at hand._

“No, Morgan. You’re drunk. Hands now,” and he ran the damp cloth through Morgan’s fingers.

Max looked up and Brice was suddenly in the doorway, holding up a towel.

“If he was capable of purring right now...” Brice was referring to the content look on Morgan’s face as he became cleaner, leaning into the push of Max’s hands as they rubbed him down.

“It’s like looking after a child, or a puppy, I can’t decide,” Max said, gratefully accepting the towel. Brice’s mouth twitched. They pulled Morgan to his feet again and carried him over and laid him on his side on the bed.

“Recovery position,” Brice said unnecessarily. They pulled off Morgan’s shoes and trousers and laid the towel down on the ground, just in case he felt so inclined again.

“Max,” this time Morgan groaned, “Max, don’t leave me.”

“I’m not leaving you, I’m just fetching you another towel, see?”

“I need you.”

“I’ll be right back.”

He recognised that look of discomfort on Brice’s face as he pulled the sheets around Morgan. “He absolutely stinks.”

“Maaaax.”

“Yes, Morgan.” Max picked up some more towels and leaned over to open the window for good measure.

“I’m sorry. I mean, I’m sorry I never told you.” Now he really wasn’t making sense.

 _Text Kay will you_ , Max mouthed at Brice, who rummaged in his pocket for his phone.

Max set more towels down, just in time as Morgan took another go of ridding his stomach of anything.

“Done.” Brice said from behind.

“We can’t leave him here on his own and I want to go to bed. I don’t even think he was this bad the last time I saw him remotely like this,” Max said without thinking. _Dammit_. _We both know what I meant by that_.

“But you don’t remember any of that, you said so yourself,” Brice’s voice was suddenly serious.

“I don’t,” Max shot back quickly, his mouth dry. “You’d better call him too.” Unless Kay was already en route, chances were he wouldn’t be checking his phone.

“What I always wanted to say was-“ Morgan suddenly grabbed Max by his lapel and yanked him forward, close enough so Max could smell the vile mix on his breath. “You taste,” he swallowed loudly, “really, really _gooood_.”

To be fair, he had tried to whisper. But drunken whispering was definitely one way that everyone in the room would hear, and Max suddenly felt like he could cut the awkward cords between himself and Brice with a knife. With his back turned he could almost feel the other boy having a silent laughing seizure.

“... I... think I’ll call him outside the room.” Brice said eventually, backing out the door.

“Why don’t you want me?” Morgan whined, as Max tried to loosen his fingers. He could feel his face burning.

“Sleep, Morgan. Ask me again in the morning.”

“I ask you all the time. And you never answer. I want you.” He refused to let go of Max’s hand, and so Max ceded that one.

“Hush,” he said, and he heard a tenderness in his voice that he didn’t know he had, “lie back.” Gingerly he ran his fingers through Morgan’s hair and stroked the side of his face. “The quicker you sleep, the sooner you’ll know.” Morgan seemed to allow himself to relax into his pillow, but he still refused to loosen his grip on Max’s other wrist.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Max gently ran his fingers up and down his cheek, “and you need to sleep. Shhh.” He then fingered the wayward tufts of hair on Morgan’s head, as Morgan’s eyes finally closed.

Max watched his breathing even. He had liked watching Morgan sleep. The first time, in Paris, he had watched him until the sun was up. He was always worried about something but watching him relax was... nice.

He shifted his hand so their fingers could lock.

“I’m sorry I’m pretending that it never happened. It did. You were right, it was wonderful. I’m sorry.”

He ran his finger across Morgan’s forehead, smoothing an eyebrow.

“I’m just afraid,” he choked. “But what if we don’t work? What if we were only drunk? If I ever uncap these emotions and run with them there’ll be no going back. I feel like it’s a lot to put on the line. What I feel makes me so, so scared.”

_And Brice tells me at least four times a day that you only live once, I clearly listen to him._

“I also wish that you didn’t want me more than I want you. I’m still not sure what I did to deserve your attention, bar punch you in the face.”

He smiled and carefully with his thumb titled Morgan’s chin up.

“That’s all. I’m sorry.”

Morgan’s lips moved slightly as he breathed in. _I want to kiss them_. Max froze.

“Look who I found!” Brice was back, Kay in tow.

“That’s where he is!” Kay rubbed his face, relieved. “We were looking everywhere, we thought he’d ended up in the river- CHRIST THE BATHROOM!”

Max quickly slipped his hand from Morgan’s.

“I know, right, who even knew his stomach had this kind of capacity, it’s actually kind of impressive,” Brice joined a shell shocked Kay at the bathroom door.

Quickly, while he had the chance, Max leaned in and rested his lips against Morgan’s hair just above his ear.

“I’m so sorry I’m putting you through this,” he whispered into his hair. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Then he tilted Morgan’s chin up more and kissed him gently. “It will get better, I promise.”

Then before anyone could react he stood up and darted out of the room. He was already in bed by the time Brice had caught up.

“Kay didn’t, but I saw that.” Max could _feel_ him grinning.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Max’s lips still tasted like bile. _Um, familiar much_.

“’ _Oh Brice I just want to clean him up_.’ You scraggly little... More like, ‘ _feel him up through a wet piece of fabric_ ’”.

Max smiled despite himself into his pillow.

“When you used to bring me home, polluted, after a night out, which I seem to remember as being just about every time we went out last year, I don’t ever recall getting a good night kiss.”

Max threw his spare pillow at him. “Shut up.” But he was laughing.

“You really do care about him. A fuck load. Admit it.” Brice threw the pillow back.

“Good night, Brice.”

“Will the two of you please just screw and end this agony for all of us.”

“I said, GOOD. NIGHT. BRICE!”


	8. Eight

_Communal showers, really_? _I thought this Lille place was meant to be brand new and state-of-the-art._

“Wes has had too much beer already! Drunk. In. Shower.”

“Two! I’ve had two!”

“Of your own... and mine!”

Morgan sighed, hooking his towel up over the edge of the door and stepping onto the tiles. The match hadn’t been quite as convincing as last week, but he’d still had game time, and they’d still won, so he couldn’t complain.

“Wait until we crack out the Jagermeister,” he said.

“Yeah, try and keep your tongue to yourself, this time, _Wes_ ,” Domingo flicked water in his direction.

“I. Do. Not- you _guuuuys_. Stoppit.” Wes cowered under his showerhead. They all laughed.

“Just don’t drink so much, and we’ll eventually run out of material,” Morgan offered, grinning. He ducked out of the way of Wes’ sponge.

“Hey, it was you he was picking on the last time, wasn’t it?”

Morgan cast his mind back to the previous weekend... which was pretty bad, his brain was still very fuzzy, and there had been the whole Max episode, but he did remember. And he laughed out loud.

“Ooh yeah! That’s right- “ _Morgie, Morgie, you’re my favourite_ ”, he put on a high-pitched drunken voice that definitely did not belong to the tall centre. Wes made to lunge at him but he held up his shower gel bottle ready to squirt in defence, “am I now, dearest Wesley?” He stuck his tongue out at him.

“I... will... tickle you to death.”

There were laughs from around the room.

“Not unless you want Strawberry Scented Shit in your eyes. Come at me. I dare you.”

“Alright, _Morgie_ ,” and Wes lunged for him, Morgan moved to get out of the way but he slipped on the tiles and Wes crashed down on top of him.

“Agh! Let me _go_! Whoa, stop, do not tickle me- ahhahahaa!”

“Take it back!”

“Guys, please, you are two naked, soapy males rolling around in water- some people pay for this and call in _gay porn_.”

“Shurrup, Mermoz!”

“Only taking it back if you call me _‘Morgie’_ again.”

“Right that’s it.”

“DO. NOT. LICK. ME- AGH!”

“What is going on?”

They rolled to a stop, Morgan could barely breathe due to suds on his face and the fact he was laughing so hard, Wes had paused with his tongue halfway up his nose and they both looked up to see Brice hanging up his towel in the doorway.

“What do they put in the water in Clermont?” he cackled.  “You guys make me feel like a pillar of sanity in a sea of wackos.”

“Time to go for a swim!” Wes reached out and yanked Brice by the ankle, and he fell heavily backwards.

“Right, Fofanator- you asked for it.” He leapt with the precision of a ninja and slammed into Wes, knocking him off Morgan, rolling him away.

“Morgie! HELP!”

“Not a chance, kiddo.” Morgan’s laughter died though when he sat up only to realise he was looking up into Max’s face. Max literally looked like he’d swallowed a lemon, and it wasn’t quite going down.

Suddenly he felt very exposed. And very sober, despite what sounded like total chaos erupting outside his peripheral vision.

“Max...”

But he slowly shook his head and walked back out.

_What did I do? How long was he standing there? Surely he knows by now that all rules are suspended when it comes to Wesley after a few beers. Especially when it involves licking people._

He kind of felt... angry.

_Even if you don’t, it’s not a courtesy I have to reserve just for you, you know. Especially since you don’t want it._

Despite being only half clean he pulled himself to his feet and grabbed his towel, storming back into the changing rooms.

***

Max hid in the toilet cubicle for he-didn’t-know-how-long. He didn’t like this. He didn’t like this one bit.

_Am I... jealous?_

He had to face facts. He was. He hadn’t liked walking in to the showers to see Morgan with someone else’s arms around him- someone else’s tongue hovering around his mouth- so much that he had to walk out before he’d thrown something very heavy and very hard in the perpetrator’s direction.

_Did it make it worse that Morgan was enjoying it?_

He hid his face in his hands. Yes, yes it really did.

 _But it’s Wes. Wes does that to everyone. In fact, Wes_ famously _does it to everyone._

_He said Morgan was his favourite. What if...?_

_It’s not going to happen purely because it’s Wes._

But Max actually felt physically sick.

_You know what you have to do._

_This... it’s not what I’m into. It’s not what I do._

_Who cares. Who cares if it’s what you do or like or hate or even fucking dance to. You want Morgan Parra. In fact, you really want Morgan Parra._

_No I do not._

_Yes, you do. You want to feel his body relax as you hold him. You want him to touch you again. You want..._

Max stifled a groan with the back of his hand. Yes, he wanted that very much.

_But you want more than that._

_Stop this._

_You want to be able to stay with him afterwards. Hold him until he sleeps like he asks you to. You want to be responsible for his smiles. You want him to teach you cards. You want to be there to prise half-digested pizza from his hair, whenever he may need it._

_But what if I do and I’m not what he expects? What if he decides he doesn’t want me after all? Am I better off not knowing? Am I better off waiting another week and seeing what happens in February?_

_But what if February’s too late?_

By the time he was sure he wasn’t about to hurl the noise had died down outside. He should really get changed for dinner. He half wondered if he had been missed.

Brice was the only one in the changing room, he was limping around with a pained expression on his face, rubbing his lower back.

“Oh, Max, it’s only you. Jeez, I really think I hurt myself in there- are you okay?”

“Fine. I’m... fine. How are you going to explain that one to the physio team?”

“What, that I injured my left buttock while taking part in a naked wrestling competition in a communal shower? Pending. Fuck, it is sore though. But no, really, are you okay?”

Max took off his towel and reached for his tux.

“If this has something to do with Morgan Parra, I will throw you out the window.”

“It has nothing to do with that.”

“It totally does.”

“Would you stop?”

“No. Would YOU stop. This case should be closed.”

Max fumbled with his tie, before ripping it off with frustration, giving up and sitting back down again.

_I will not cry. I will. Not. Cry._

“Shit man.” Brice was there. Of course he was. “What?”

_I wish I could tell you. But you wouldn’t get it._

“Has it something to do with the game? No, this is definitely something to do with Morgan.”

“I don’t know. I mean I do. But I don’t,” _I’ve pushed him away too many times because I thought it would make things better, but I feel disgusting, I feel terrible for lying, there was no need, I want him too, but maybe I have actually pushed him too far away to bring him back, and could I live with myself when he does move on?_

He shook his head mutely.

“It was Wes, wasn’t it-“

“I’m scared,” Max’s voice was small. “I’m not ready. For him.”

“You can’t expect him to wait.”

“I know.” Max’s voice cracked.

“Is this a confession?”

“What?” Max looked up at him sideways.

“That the feeling is mutual. Because,” Brice put an arm around Max’s shoulder and pulled their foreheads together, “you can trust me. I’m not judging you. And I want to help.”

Seconds ticked past as Max tried to strangle back the emotion, but it was no use, he was feeling proper fear- he felt Brice’s hand squeeze his shoulder as he started shaking.

“...yes. It is.” Max said unsteadily. “But I’m so afraid.” He choked back a sob and he felt Brice’s arm tightening around him, rocking him backwards and forwards, soothing. He could almost hear the cogs ticking away in his friend’s brain.

Well, he had asked for his help. And he couldn’t do this on his own, he couldn’t take it. It was just that... Brice’s ideas... well...

 “I have an idea,” Brice said finally.

 _Oh no_.

“Don’t look at me like that. I think there’s someone you might like to talk to.”

“Brice!” Max was exasperated. “I never even wanted you to know about...” _how I feel_ “this. Can we please keep it between ourselves.”

“Don’t worry. You are going to want to have this conversation.” He leapt up and grabbed his things, giddy. “I can’t believe I never thought of this before. Oh, Max!” He put them down again and finished tying Max’s tie. Max’s fingers weren’t working properly.

_But what if it doesn’t work, Brice. What if whatever it is doesn’t work. What if I’ve already lost him?_

His hands tightened in fists as Brice pushed the knot of his tie against his Adam’s apple.

“Too tight, sorry.” He could breathe again, but that wasn’t what was making his eyes fill up with tears.

“Look at me, Max.” He concentrated on his shoelaces, but Brice’s eyes found his too fast to hide the tears.

 _I am so afraid, Brice_.

“Hey, _hey_ , shhh,” Brice dabbed at his face gently with his shirt sleeve. “Stop worrying.”

Max swallowed loudly and Brice sighed.

“I only wish you knew how crazy he was about you. This can only end one way, and that is well. Okay? I promise.”

Max didn’t believe him, but he nodded anyway.

“Come on,” Brice was already out the door, “I think we’re holding up the bus.”

***

Brice kept his lips shut the whole way through dinner and the whole way to the club, which was only making Max more anxious. It didn’t help that Brice kept swinging his head around, as if to check something was still there.

“I just have to be sure,” he said, when Max caught him.

“Of what?” Max would reply fiercely. But Brice would just flash him a grin and tuck deeper into his Pavlova.

When they arrived at the club, Max was dragged into the bathrooms and commanded to wait.

“Briiiice, what is going _on_?”

“I’m helping. There’s just something I need to check first. Can you please just stay here and try and _not_ wander.”

“Am I just meant to stand here and watch other people take leaks?”

“Do whatever, Max. Small price to pay. I’ll be five minutes.”

But he was longer than five minutes. Fifteen had rolled by and Max had locked himself in a toilet cubicle.

Twenty. _What are you doing Brice._

He had started playing Sudoku on his phone by the time he heard his name being called outside.

“Sorry,” Brice was out of breath, “negotiations took a bit longer than expected.”

“Wait ... what?” But Brice had grabbed him by the arm and was now dragging him through bodies and noise. The inside of the club was huge, but Brice seemed to know where he was going as he pulled Max upstairs to the private bar.

Brice rounded on him when they reached the top of the stairs.

“Want anything?”

“What? I-“

“From the bar. To drink. I’m thinking the strongest thing they have.”

“Brice, what is-“

“Okay, because he’s waiting for you at that table over there. He knows the situation. In fact, he may be the only other person in it.”

“Seriously, what-“ Then he followed Brice’s gesture to one of the booths lining the bar, where taking enormous gulps of his pint, Max recognized the curly black hair of Maxime Mermoz.

“Just talk to him.” Brice’s hand was on his shoulder, but Max, now silent, was struggling to keep up. “And, good luck.”


	9. Nine

Morgan was still seething from earlier. Several pints and strobe lights were only adding to it.

_He can’t expect me to just WAIT. It doesn’t work like that, MAX. Having waited, and WAITED, I think that it’s about time I decided that since you very definitely don’t belong to ME, I don’t belong to YOU._

He knew Brice and Max had taken him home during the week, after his birthday, Kay had duly informed him, but his brain muddled after that, bar a brief dream of Max’s hands in his and lips against his head.

He was so sick of dreams. That was all he had of the man who wouldn’t let him touch him, who he could feel wanted it as badly as he did but every time he tried he was pushed away. He didn’t want it to be like this. He wanted Max, true, he wanted him entirely. But he also wanted to bring to bed someone who was willing to go. That every time their lips met it wouldn’t have to feel like something so brief, so desperate.

His brain swam as he fought his way over to a corner of the dance floor, to where someone’s half empty glass was sitting, alone, on a table.

 _I hope this is highly alcoholic_ , he thought as he downed it. It burned his throat and he felt it rip down his oesophagus. _Good_.

He brain took on a new wave of thought.

_Who even says it’s him I need anyway? What if I just really badly needed to get laid?_

_Are you telling me I’ve wasted all this time on him, when I could have been happily fucking someone else?_

“Hellloooo, Morgie,” a familiar voice whispered in his ear and he jumped.

Someone had clearly not remembered to take the wine away from Wes’ table.

He didn’t even have time to run- stronger arms grabbed his hips.

“I have you nowwwww.”

It took Morgan’s drunk brain all of a nanosecond to make a decision on the current situation.

_Is it really so bad to be wanted for once?_

He turned around and let Wesley’s lips mould around his waiting mouth.


	10. Ten

Max was letting this all sink in.

“So you and...”

“Yep.”

“For how long?”

Mermoz finished draining his glass. “Since he signed with Clermont.”

“Oh.” Max paused. “But that’s when he left.”

“Yeah.”

“How did you...?”

“Know?” Mermoz reached across the table and grabbed Max’s beer, proceeding to drink it. “He says he always knew, from the first day I got off the bus at Perpignan as a new recruit fresh from Toulouse. It took me a lot longer though.

“It’s pervy now, if you think about it. But he said he got used to being my neighbour, my roommate, my best friend. He said he never intended it to go any further. Just being in my life was enough.”

“Did it ever... did you ever feel... like... you couldn’t compete? That you would never be able to give him back all those feelings entirely?”

Mermoz frowned. “You’ve lost me.”

Max flattened his hair nervously. “Did you ever feel like he loved you more than you would ever love him?”

Mermoz raised an eyebrow. “I’d say we’re on a pretty even wavelength now, so before doesn’t matter. Well, it does to him, he likes to hang it over me sometimes- the fact that he realised we should be together first.” A smile played on his lips and he swallowed more.

“I had to hear about his transfer to Clermont on the news, you know.” He was shaking his head now. “He was so busy trying to find a way to break it to me that eventually he just didn’t. Un-be-lievable. I drove around to his house the moment I found out.”

“So, how did you...?”

“You see, there was this one night- actually, the night we won the Bouclier in 2009. And night turned into morning, and I was going to have to be properly put into bed. Damien and Nico volunteered. And I think he was trying to make me get off a bar table and to let go of the shield when I kissed him. Or so he says,” Mermoz grinned, “the instigator is debatable. Despite being completely out of my tree, I recognised what an excellent kiss it was. Oh my God, was it good. But I stored it way back in the back of my mind for the next three years, I completely forgot about it the next morning. And he never mentioned it.

“But anyway, fast forward, I’ve just arrived at his house, and he’s waiting for me, and I see him sitting there in his kitchen and he gets up and offers to make me coffee. And _boom_ \- back comes this kiss. The most amazing kiss I’ve ever had. I’m watching his back as he fiddles with the coffee machine and wondering could I possibly have dreamt it, and he starts explaining why he’s going. But I couldn’t hear him, I’d suddenly been hit by what a beautiful person he was.”

Mermoz looked down at his empty glass and sighed. “Truth? The realisation made me feel ill. Ill with... just... so much... feeling. He hands me my cup and he says probably the thing he’s going to miss most is me. And that’s when I decided to lean across the countertop and see did I dream this kiss or did it actually happen.”

“That sounds all very _The Notebook_.”

“It was. Although there was nothing romantic about the second-degree burns he suffered when my coffee went everywhere. He still has the shirt he was wearing- because he says it’s his best one and he’s determined that some day he’ll get the stains out... but, we both know why he really wants to keep it.”

“And?”

“What?” Mermoz had been in a little reminiscing daze.

“Had he lost his touch?”

“Is the sky blue?”

“So... then what did you guys do?”

Mermoz flashed a very wicked grin. “Well then, _petit Maxou_ , we proceeded to have a lot of sex. Everywhere. Not a surface in that house escaped.”

“Ah,” Max grimaced. “I’m very sorry I asked.”

Mermoz grinned. “I think,” he started slowly, “that if we’re going to continue this conversation... we are both going to need more beer.”


	11. Eleven

At first, kissing Wesley was... nice. He tasted sweet and none of the emotions that normally ripped Morgan to pieces inside when he was near Max were present. Wes was taller and stronger and very much in control. Hands swept confidently over Morgan’s body, unafraid of what they might feel, of who they were feeling...

 _I could get used to this,_ thought Morgan.


	12. Twelve

“How do you feel about him?”

“I... I...” _this was hard to get out infront of Brice_ , Max struggled to find the words.  “A lot,” he finally blurted out. Mermoz raised a quizzical eyebrow, and without taking his eyes off Max’s expression, pointed to the row of beer glasses in front of him. “Drink.” He commanded.

Max picked one up and took a tentative sip.

“Nuh-uh. Take a proper one.”

Max took a huge gulp and felt slightly ill. “I don’t like beer,” he said, coughing.

“Good. Because,” Mermoz leaned closer over the table, “this is how it is going to work, my friend. Every time you give an unsatisfactory answer- you drink. A proper drink. And I’ll know an unsatisfactory answer when I hear one. This way, I get my answers- fully coherent or not. Understand.”

Max nodded. “I think so.”

“That answer was unsatisfactory. Drink.”

“No fair! Can we start again?”

Mermoz sniggered. “As long as you understand the repercussions. You’re going to have to answer me the best you can if I’m going to evaluate you accurately. So speak.”

“Um... I think... I think this may have all started back with me. We’re the same age, we came up through the same ranks, he was the poster boy for the new generation of scrum-halves- the darling of Clermont Auvergne, French rugby in general- while I’d come up through the second division and hadn’t played with France since I was sixteen. But... instead of hating him... I absolutely worshipped him. He was just all I wanted to be, and it made me want to work so hard- kill myself training, to get to his level- until... Argentina this summer.”

Took a deep breath and buried his head in his knees, combing his hair back off his face. He was letting too much out. He’d never said this much to anyone before. Something Brice said came back to him, “ _Before you never shut up about the guy and now you never, ever, ever mention him_.”

But he understood that since Mermoz had bared all, he was implicitly required to do the same.

 “Argentina changed a lot. I learned a lot. And I came away from it with the better profile. But I couldn’t help but shy away from him, like he was some sort of Legendary Rugby Great and I was ten years old. So we never spoke. I wanted to, be he never made the effort either. That really got under my skin once we got back to France- it was one thing me being scared out of my wits talking to him, but this guy, the one I’d always envisaged to be the bigger and better man... just didn’t notice me. It made me a bit... ill I guess. I felt so trivial. And then in interviews after the game I got really angry because everyone kept acting like my performance was a fluke, and none of the after match reports could resist mentioning Morgan in the same sentence as me. I’d just taken my hero down a notch, and no one was acting like it mattered. And I was still so angry with myself that I took him out that time they played us.”

Mermoz was surveying him over his glass. Max swallowed loudly and continued.

“I wanted him to notice me. That night... I drank something, I don’t know what, but it really messed with me- I wasn’t myself, but I was, if you know what I mean- and I lost control: and that was the night I kissed him. It was definitely me who kissed him. I think it was because I still wanted him to realise, that I was a person, that I existed. My motives of anything that night are slightly blurred though,“ he smiled weakly, “but then... I ended up bringing him home... and... I’d caught his attention, anyways.”

“So... you give him the ride of his life. And then expect him to just get over it? That’s a... bit cruel.” Max felt the guilty pang return, like he was being given out to by his school master.

“I didn’t know he was going to react to it like he did! It was one night, and I cannot even estimate how badly we were out of our respective trees, alcohol-wise. I expected things to go back to normal- and, truth, I sort of wanted them to. It’s not a situation I would ever have found myself in sober. And then we come to Marcoussis and he makes it out like I- me, insignificant as I am- have messed with him, with his feelings, and now he’s making it out like he... NEEDS me.”

“Give yourself some credit, maybe he does have feelings for you.”

Max shook his head. “I don’t think that’s possible. I haven’t done anything to deserve them. And this is extreme, I see it in his face- that- I don’t know, so much desperation, almost like... I don’t think that it’s possible that, after one night, he might feel like that about me.”

Mermoz smiled. “Good! That answer was good. But the important question is our next one... how does he make YOU feel?”

 _He sounds like a car salesman._ Thought Max.

 _How does he make me feel? Oh my God, sometimes... so good_.

Max blinked that thought away. He wasn’t drunk enough yet.

“Terrified.”

“Why?”

“Because... on the one hand I’m afraid of what might happen if I let go. And we get together. I won’t be able to control the situation anymore. I mean, the first time we were together it was... wow, it was wild. But then on the other hand, if I saw him with someone else I’m terrified that I might die slightly inside.”

Mermoz nodded, urging him to continue.

“And it all came on so fast... I feel like what he feels can’t possibly exist... or last. So, if I let go... I feel like at the end of it all, I’ll be left second best, floundering, again.

“Also... I’m afraid because... any of the... times,” he wasn’t sure if that night in the changing rooms in Adidas counted, but he decided to throw it in anyway, “that we, um-“ he gestured wildly with his hands.

“-fucked.”

Max felt his face flush.

“Yes. I was always on the... erm... receiving end. And if it ever so happened that I’d have to... start things... I don’t know what to do and I don’t know how I’m going to make him... enjoy it. Like I did.”

“You’re blood alcohol levels are still too low. Drink.”

Max took an enormous swing. Mermoz was right. He needed it.

“Okay,” Mermoz rubbed his hands together, “well, we’ve delved in a bit deeper that I thought we would initially. So you’re worried about your sexual prowess. The thing is, Maxou, in order to get him to come, you are going to have to...” his lips twitched, “practise. For now, since, as you put it, you’ve been on the receiving end before, I wouldn’t worry. If he wants you, and he’s still coming at you, it’s because he’s getting enough pleasure by simply giving it to you. Option one is, that after you’ve been together a while, you ask him what he wants. Have you talked about it at all?”

“We don’t... talk.” But the thought of asking Morgan something like that was making him cringe.

“Ah. Okay so option two, is that... well, you remember what worked for you, and use it on him.”

That sounded much better to Max.

“But do you want this to last, Maxou?”

“What do you mean?”

“You said you don’t think it’ll last. But do you WANT it to last, if you do get together?”

 _What a stupid question_ , thought Max.

He told Mermoz so.

“Drink.” Max took the obligatory gulp.

“Also I don’t know how we got so deep into this topic when you won’t let him near you.”

“Wait... what?”

“Brice mentioned The Wall.”

“What exactly did Brice say to you?”

“Don’t change the subject, it was part of the preliminary negotiations.”

Max took a deep breath. “It just happens. I let him in so far and then... I just get so... terrified. I can’t function I’m that scared- my entire body shuts down!” He said, suddenly exasperated by the calm on Mermoz’s face. Did he not get it? “I can’t breathe, I can’t even feel my heartbeat, my arms get heavy and I choke up and, and-“ _all I can do is feel his pulse and his breath and his body moulding into my shape and I can’t, I can’t I just can’t-_. “And I have to push him away- in order to even function properly again.”

Mermoz nodded slowly, his eyes focused on the table top. Then he leaned forward.

“Listen, Maxou,” he began, then looked up and his eyes met Max’s- his face in the most serious expression Max had ever seen him make. “I want you to remember, if you take anything from today, from this conversation- we all already know fear. To get to where we are- in this sport, I mean, we have seriously made it, haven’t we? To get here, we have put ourselves through all sorts of pain and fear- not just on the outside, but inside too. And we’d be mad if we’d never felt it.”

“We’ve all learned to push through it though- what we get out of it at the end is always worth a few nerves.”

“Exactly- and this is no different.”

“It is. I’ve never been so terrified in my life, and I’m not exactly sure why- very much not the case when you’re the last man, five foot, seven inches tall, and the other team’s prop forward is bulldozing towards you.”

“But that’s why you’re so terrified, Maxou,” Mermoz was plainly frustrated, “because this fear is keeping you from something, that may be the biggest feeling you’ll ever feel. It’s keeping you from... love.”

Max choked on a mouthful of beer, forcing it down but still feeling it rise in his throat as his stomach swished with fear-induced nausea.

“I am absolutely, certainly, definitely not... in love... with Morgan Parra,” he spluttered eventually.

“But, see, that’s the thing,” Mermoz’s eyes were shining as he beamed at him across the table, “I’m not so entirely sure that you aren’t.”


	13. Thirteen

It took all of about a minute to Morgan to snap to his senses.

_I DON’T WANT THIS._

Wesley was too strong. He didn’t want to kiss Morgan- it felt like he wanted to _eat_ him. Morgan felt the hard, cold wall of the club at his back and Wes pushing against his front and he could barely breathe.

He didn’t feel anything. He felt Wes but he didn’t want to. Wes’ hands were all over his body but Morgan wasn’t reacting.

_I don’t want him to touch me._

_I want Max. I want Max to touch me. Alone. Only him. Ever._

_Why did I think this was a good idea?_

Morgan struggled- he tried to flail his arms but Wes had them firmly pressed against the wall.

 _Curse drunken strength_.

Wes had felt him try to escape and pushed him harder still, his tongue went  further into Morgan’s mouth.

_I can’t breathe. Holy shit._

So he did the only thing that seemed like a good idea in that situation. He grabbed Wes’s lower lip between his teeth, and ripped.

Wes howled as he fell backwards, blood seeped through his fingers where Morgan had bitten. Morgan braced himself, readying his muscles for the revenge strike but Wes just hissed at him and stalked away, clutching his face.

_It’s probably not the first time that’s happened to him... poor guy._

Morgan breathed out and rested his head back against the wall- only to see Brice Dulin standing horrified- mouth wide open- in front of him, having just seen the entire thing.


	14. Fourteen

“Brice! Wait! I can explain!”

Morgan had followed him into the smoking area. Brice didn’t want to hear it, his head was whirring.

“What do you think I am trying to _do?”_ he swung around and snarled in Morgan’s face. Morgan halted, looking shocked.

“Yeah, I am pissed. Of course I fucking am. I don’t think you realise,” he took a step closer, “how fucking far I have gone out on a limb to get you with my best friend. I have been trying,” his fists curled, “EVERYTHING.”

Morgan’s voice was small. “You... don’t get angry.”

_He’s drunk. Holy crap, he is totally walloped._

“To fuck I do. It’s one thing to actual fuck Max, Morgan,” his spit flew, “but if you’re going to fuck with his head too, I... I can’t do this.”

_Max is inside being convinced by Mermoz that this very moment that this... STUPID IDIOT is right for him._

_Nope, no- I’M the idiot. I never imagined this- Morgan getting bored and going after someone else- being an issue._

“AGH!” He aimed a kick at a glass on the ground and the sore muscle in his backside gave out loudly. “FUCKING HELL!”

“You said he wanted me too,” Morgan was saying dumbly. “He doesn’t.”

Brice stomped around for a few more seconds.

“I have known Max,” he stopped to try and slow down his angry breathing, but continued to shout, “way, WAY longer than you have, Parra- I don’t care in what context. Believe me- he wants in your pants as badly as you want into his. But,” he raised his finger warily, “I told you I had this covered. I TOLD you to WAIT, and that I would sort it.”

“You never said that!”

“STOP, Morgan.” Brice ran out of ways to accurately get his anger out without physically strangling him so he mimed it instead. “Why the fuck should I help you anyway after what I just saw? Huh? WESLEY FOFANA, I mean, COME ON- you could have at least been ORIGINAL.”

Morgan cowered. “I was tired of waiting.”

“You know what,” Brice was in his face again, “right now, at this very moment, no way in hell do I think that you deserve him.”

He didn’t expect what happened next. Morgan burst into tears and fell onto him, burying his face into Brice’s jacket. Shocked, Brice’s hands flew up in the air. People in the smoking area, if they hadn’t been staring before, were starting to get pretty curious now.

 _I have, no words._ Brice thought. _I surrender. Get me out of this now_.

“Bri-i-ice,” Brice was surprised that Morgan could get words out through such convulsions, but he was still stuck for what to do, so his hands remained above his head. The mix of snot and tears on his very white shirt was starting to make his chest wet.

“I know. I know- I don’t- deserve- but, but- I love him,” Morgan wailed, “I love him, I love him, I love him.”

 _Ah,_ Brice thought.

“And- I- just, he makes me- I had to- It won’t- not Wesley.”

 _This is all rather pathetic._ Brice was starting to get over the initial shock.

“I want to be with Max- Max and Max and just Max- forever and ever and ever and-“

Brice had had enough, reached over to a nearby table and grabbed a half empty glass, and proceeded to dump it over Morgan’s head- who jumped back in shock.

 _Hmmm,_ Brice’s nose wrinkled, _who even drinks Gin these days?_

Morgan fell back onto his glutes, stunned.

“Pull yourself together.” Brice kneeled down in front of him. Morgan looked up at him, perplexed, and his hair stuck to his head, soaking wet.

“I’m sorry about dumping that on you. But I’m not sorry about what I said earlier. Morgan,” he shuffled closer, “I can’t convince Max to be with you if I don’t think its right for him.”

“But I love him.”

“No, you don’t, you’re drunk.”

“No, I do,” Morgan’s eyes were wide, “I felt nothing. For Wes. I mean I let him for a bit... but only because... I wanted to be wanted. But then... I realised... and I bit him.”

Brice’s eyebrows went skyward. “You bit Wesley?”

“He’s bleeding.”

“Shit.”

Brice rubbed his face with his hand while he observed Morgan’s face. It was pretty serious. Brice’s fingers rearranged the skin on his cheeks while he thought, and Morgan watched him, unblinking.

“You LOVE him?”

“Yes.”

“Love is a pretty big deal Morgan. And you are very drunk.”

“But I do.” The end of that sentence slurred slightly, as if to back Brice up.

Brice hung his head and observed the pavement, thinking. It was too late. He’d convinced Mermoz to get a confession out of Max. And once Max had been convinced of something...

He looked back up at Morgan’s waiting face.

“Are you sure?”

Morgan nodded.

“Positive.”

“But you’ve only...”

“It was enough.”

Brice closed his eyes and breathed in, and out, slowly.

 _This is madness,_ he thought. _The poor bloke is still in shock from my liquid assault._

_I’m going to have to do this, aren’t I? So help me, God- this had better be the right thing for both of them._

“Okay, Morgan,” he sighed. “This is what we’re going to do.” He looked at his watch. “I’m guessing you’ll have about... half an hour. Go to the kebab shop, go back to your hotel room, change, shower, whatever, to try not to smell like my grandma anymore,” he rummaged in his jacket pocket and took out a set of keys, and chucked them at Morgan.

Morgan, displaying excellent co-ordination for someone in his state, caught them.

“Those are the keys for our hotel room. I want you to go in there and wait. Max will want to talk to you tonight.”

“He never wants to talk to me.”

“Trust me, Morgan. Tonight he will. And please,” he stressed, “be patient, okay? Don’t get bored and go for a waiter or something this time.”

“Should I tell him... that...? Wes...”

_Stop making my life difficult._

“Yes, Morgan. I think, if you really want this to work- that you should tell him. And explain.”

“How will he take it?”

“I have no idea. Come on Morgan, half an hour- I’ve had enough of working miracles this evening, now it’s your turn.” 


	15. Fifteen

“Okay...” Mermoz said, after what felt like hours. “I think we’re done here.”

The threat of beer must have worked subconsciously on Max. Most of the glasses were still full, and his brain was still functioning... okay. In fact, Mermoz had drunk more than him.

Mermoz stood up and stretched. “You know what to do now, yeah?”

Max was still shocked that Mermoz had been able to get that much out of him.

“Yeah.”

“Will you be okay?”

“Fine... I think I’ll be fine.”

Mermoz reached across the table and laid a hand on Max’s shoulder, smiling. “Good luck, buddy.”

And he left.

Max sat there even longer, trying to come to terms with... everything. Finally he pushed himself to his feet and went back downstairs. He spotted Brice almost immediately.

“Brice!... Whoa, what happened to your shirt?”

Brice turned to him, smiling and then looked down.

“Um, split... stuff on myself.”

“What happened to Wes?” Max spied him out of the corner of his eye.

“Ummm... walked into a door. Listen, how’d it go? Up there?”

Max tried to smile, but he was too preoccupied with other emotions. “Brice, you didn’t have to do that for me.”

Brice shrugged nonchalantly. “You were never going to figure it out for yourself, and you were never going to tell me.”

“But how did you know?”

Brice grinned. “Same ways I knew about Mermoz and Chouly, is what. So... what are you going to do now?”

“I think... I wanted to find him and talk about it but... you know what,” he rubbed him eyes. “I’m exhausted. And my brain is in overdrive. I might just go to bed.”

“You sure? There’s a serious party going on up in here. Fufu’s about to get his disc jockey set out.”

“No... I think... Nah, I’m just too pooped.”

“Okay, well... sleep tight, I guess.” Max didn’t notice Brice’s fingers subtly crossing on his glass. Max patted him on the shoulder and headed towards the door.

 _Despite looking like a rabbit trapped in headlights, I think that went well_. Brice mused, then punched the hair.

“Fouass!” He grabbed him as he walked past. “Think you have room for three in yours tonight?”

***

Morgan had been sitting in the same position, perched on the end of one of beds in Max and Brice’s room, for such a long time that when he finally heard the key in the lock he couldn’t move. He’d changed his suit for a tshirt and jeans and hopefully washed enough of the smell out of his hair... his head still swam slightly, and his stomach locked even tighter with panic as Max walked in, closing the door behind him.

His heart couldn’t help but sing slightly at the sight of him, they hadn’t been this close in a long time. Max’s eyes widened with surprise- beautiful, that lovely deep dark brown that matched his irregularly splayed hair on his head- how, despite standing taller than him, Max’s chin tucked with apprehension and he looked up at Morgan through long, dark lashes.

_I can’t tell him what happened. I can’t. I won’t. He’s going to run. He’s going to run anyway, like he always does, I can tell._

“Max...” he choked, throat tightening as it held back a sudden sob. _How could I imagine being with anyone else but you? No one makes me feel like you do._

But the sentences didn’t come out, and Max still stood at the door, rigid- Morgan could feel him tensing up. _Brice was wrong_ , he thought, _he’s not going to talk. He’s going to run._

Morgan leaned over, hiding his face in his hands, elbows propped up on his knees. _For nothing. All for nothing. Please just leave if you’re going to_.

He heard Max’s footsteps and then he felt his body halt in front of him.

“Morgan,” Max whispered softly, and, shocked, Morgan looked up to see Max- inches away, so close, to easy to reach out to touch, but he didn’t dare, he didn’t dare- looking down at him, a smile dancing in his eyes. Out of the corner of his vision he saw Max’s arms leave his sides, and his hands hold on to his own- but he didn’t tear his face away from Max’s. If this was a dream, he wanted it to stay with him forever.

Max’s hands pulled at his gently, up, arranging them around his waist, and he nodded, smiling properly now, at Morgan, who hesitated, then pulled Max closer- pressing his forehead into Max’s stomach, just above his belt, feeling the metal press into his cheek as it rose and fell as Max breathed, and then the tears came. He felt Max’s fingers run through his hair, and grip the back of his head, pushing him deeper as Morgan’s tears escalated to violent sobs.

_Why I am I crying? I’m so scared. I’m so scared this can’t be real. I’m so scared to let him go. I’m so scared to tell him what happened earlier. I want him so much it hurts._

Something fell to the floor by his feet and he was momentarily distracted enough to notice it was Max’s dinner jacket, and then his tie, and then he felt nimble fingers pulling at shirt buttons just above his head- and then he was pressing into skin. As carefully as he dared he allowed his mouth to rest against the softness of Max’s body just below his belly, tasting his own tears as he did so.

Max slowly pulled away- Morgan stiffened with panic- but it was only so he could sink to his knees in front of him, discarding the last of his shirt as he did.

 _I am dreaming,_ thought Morgan as his hands fell limp on the bed either side of him.

Max’s fingers traced the small indent that his belt had imprinted in Morgan’s cheek. “I’m sorry about that,” he said. Morgan’s tears continued to pour all over his hand, soaking it.

Through his blurred vision he marvelled at the tips of Max’s collarbones, the curve of his shoulders, the sinews branching over muscles on his arms.

_This can’t be real._

“Go on. Touch me,” pleaded Max softly.

 _Definitely dreaming._ Morgan didn’t risk it. _Anything to prolong this._ He shook his head.

“Morgan... I’m here because I want to be. And I’m sorry. I’m sorry about so many things. I’m sorry that you’re crying, for starters.” Max’s other hand was pulling off his shoes, one, then the other. And then he reached up and placed it on Morgan’s chest, Morgan could feel his heart pounding against it. Max’s face was so close to his now he could feel his breath.

“But...,” and Max let out a slight laugh, Morgan could almost feel something like excitement in it, “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Sure?” Morgan hiccupped. Tears were cooling his cheeks.

Max’s eyes blazed. He cupped Morgan’s face in his hands, reaching fingers back until Morgan felt them in his hair. Then Max pulled him towards him, and there it was, the kiss he wanted- their lips met and fresh tears poured out from Morgan’s eyes again.

“Shhhh,” Max was saying in between kisses- but Morgan couldn’t stop, it wasn’t that he was afraid this time. Inside he was belting out Pavarotti. He didn’t think, in that moment, that he’d ever felt so happy. Max’s lips were still Max’s, still gentle, and Morgan remembered how they moved, how they liked to be pressured. How much he liked it when Max’s teeth gently tugged, the soft rub of facial hair against his chin. His arms linked under Max’s, feeling his skin and the sides of his ribs gently pressing against his hands, pulling him even closer.

Max pushed him gently and they sprawled backwards onto the bed- still entwined, lips still locked. Max’s hands began at his waist, gently rolling Morgan’s tshirt up and Morgan reached his arms up as it glided over his head.

“I’m dreaming,” he murmured. It had slipped out as the fabric passed his face. “Dreaming.” He looked up into Max’s face, pushing the hair back from it. Max pressed his cheek into Morgan’s palm, and kissed it. Morgan ran his fingers over Max’s cheeks, his lips, over the bumps where his nose had been broken, tracing the curves of his eyes. “Beautiful,” he breathed.

But Max just smiled his beautiful, complete smile. “Flattery will get you nowhere.” And he bit down hard into the skin at Morgan’s collarbone. Morgan flinched with the sudden pain. “Dreaming, eh? Felt that, didn’t you?” His breath warmed Morgan’s skin as his kisses continued down Morgan’s chest, “I’m really here, Morgan,” over his stomach, “and I think it’s about time,” Morgan’s skin began to burn, “that I started to return a few favours...” Morgan heard himself being unzipped and felt jeans _et all_ being tugged away, his body pulsed, he didn’t dare believe what his groin region was slowly beginning to anticipate-

“... and I’ve decided that I have a confession to make.”

Morgan had never felt Max’s tongue there before and he gasped.


	16. Sixteen

“Morgan...” Max was mumbling into his lips. “Hmmm... Morgan... my jaw is starting to hurt.”

Kissing Max was frightfully addictive. Morgan wasn’t sure if it was that or if he just never wanted it to stop, in case Max would have second thoughts and leave him again.

“No seriously... I’m cramping up... I actually physically cannot...”

Morgan just kissed him harder. They had been at this for... could it have been a few hours? It felt like weeks. Even when Max’s mouth shut, Morgan continued to press his lips onto every piece of Max he could find- into his hair, his forehead, his chest, his...

“Careful down there, you might lose an eye.”

Grinning, he rolled Max over onto his back, pinning his arms down into the mattress continuing to kiss him all over his face. Max’s free fingers started to make small circles in Morgan’s thighs, and Morgan paused, heart rattling like a fire alarm.

 _Look_ , Max’s fingers were saying as they danced over his skin, _I know how to undo you, Morgan Parra_.

He was still giddy from before, his body still quivered at the memory, where he’d come apart so hard and so fast that Max had complained that Morgan was lucky he had a good gag reflex.

They both giggled as that thought suddenly struck them, and Max reached up to rest his mouth against Morgan’s, then in the manner in which only a rugby player could effectively pull off, he pulled at Morgan’s thighs, tackling him back onto his side. He then looped his arms around Morgan’s back, pulling his head into his chest, his content sigh slightly disturbing the hair that grew on it. Morgan breathed into Max’s hair, smelling his smell, pulling him closer by the shoulder blades.

***

“What made you change your mind?”

Morgan was asking the question into Max’s hair. Max pulled him closer, slightly groggy, and reached his head up to kiss Morgan’s neck.

He’d promised Mermoz that he wouldn’t tell on him and Chouly... because, according to Mermoz, it was their thing, and they didn’t want other people sticking their noses in... meaning he would surely do his best to take Brice out at training on Monday.

Speaking of...

“Brice was what did it,” he grumbled, but not unhappily, Morgan’s fingers were making wonderful circles at the base of his skull, curling around his hair. “And you. And... hummm... those things that your fingers do.”

 Morgan giggled childishly, tugging at Max’s hair, tilting his chin up so Max could feel lips laughing into his. He smiled when he opened his eyes, meeting Morgan’s- a lighter brown than his own, but wider, warmer. He had never seen Morgan like this- he was so loose, so open, he hadn’t stopped smiling since... well, Max had broken him, clearly.

 _I broke Morgan Parra_. He smiled.

Max saw Morgan’s lips parting and guessed what would come next- so he kissed him ferociously.

“Shut up.”

Morgan tried to respond but eventually gave up, and they fell back into their old rhythm- could it be an old rhythm after so little time?- slowly shaping around each other, letting nails drag on each other’s skin, Max feeling Morgan’s laughter infecting his own mouth-

“But,” he said finally stopping, his smile now as broad as Morgan’s. “I concede, we should talk some things through.”

He closed his eyes as he felt Morgan’s nose run up along his, resting on his forehead. “Why are you so beautiful?” Morgan’s nails sunk deeper as he said it.

Max sighed, resting his head against Morgan’s chest again. “I’m not. You’re just crazy.”

Morgan laughed. “I’m not the crazy one.”

“You’re actually clinically insane. Stop being so happy.” But Max was only teasing, this new Morgan Parra sure beat the quiet, mildly grumpy other one.

“I can’t, I can’t,” Morgan was giggling mirthlessly, “I can’t because I’m holding you in my arms right now, and I’m wondering what on earth I did to deserve something so good.”

“Steady,” mumbled Max, “I’m not that fantastic.” Gently, he unwrapped himself from Morgan, propping himself up on his elbows on the mattress, cocking his head sideways as he looked down at the silly bundle of smiles now lying flat on its back on the bed below him.

“Seriously, Morgan,” Max asked quietly, “why me? You could have anybody else if you really wanted.”

Morgan reached up a tentative hand to brush Max’s hair from his face. “Am I going to have to keep saying it?” He let his finger glide down Max’s cheek, leaving it tingling. “I have never wanted anyone, anything, as much as I want you.”

Max half-smiled back, he still wasn’t quite sure that he believed him. He pulled himself out of bed- suddenly chilly without the warmth of someone else. “I need some coffee.” He felt Morgan’s eyes staring into his back- his very, very bare back- as he filled his cup. When he sat back down on the end of the bed Morgan wriggled free from the sheets, coming to squeeze him from behind, resting his head on Max’s shoulder. Max liked how they automatically leaned into each other- it felt good, it felt like he belonged here in Morgan’s embrace.

He tiled his head back to kiss him. “Can’t you control that thing?” He could feel Morgan’s happiness, more precisely, poking into his lower back.

“Ha,” Morgan knocked his head against Max’s playfully, “the things I want to do to you from this angle... But not just yet.”

Max took a swing from his coffee, the heat burning his throat. He hadn’t thought about... that. He felt suddenly nervous.

Morgan kissed the side of his mouth. “And not if you don’t want to, of course.” He smiled broader and gave another silly giggle. “I don’t like coffee normally, but it tastes good on you.”

“Morgan,” Max already knew he wouldn’t like this question, “what are we doing?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean... this,” Max leaned further into Morgan to prove the point, “I like this. This... is easy.”

Morgan nuzzled his hair. “Hmmm.”

“But... what about tomorrow? Is this... more than just really strong feelings? Do we tell people? What happens when we go back to opposite ends of the country?” Morgan’s hand was snaking down his waist, but Max caught it with his own before it reached the danger area.

“Seriously, Morgan.”

Morgan’s nails clawed into Max’s skin, he saw it turn red.

“No, no...” he linked into the other man’s fingers, “I don’t mean... I mean... this isn’t like before.” How could he put this? “This isn’t me saying I don’t want you. This is me saying I do... and I want us to happen again. But I’m just not sure how.”

“We can figure it out. Weekends. Holidays.”

“But what will happen the first weekend I can’t make it? What if I have to go back to Bordeaux? What about away games? What if weekends turn into once a month and then every few months and then... never? What if it just gets harder and harder and we just get more and more miserable and fight with everyone... What about our careers? The two French scrum halves can’t be regularly fucking each other, how would that work?! What if the staff find out and don’t take kindly to it? Who is going to lose out? Will we hate each other for it?”

“Don’t over analyse,” whispered Morgan. “We don’t have to tell anyone. No one else has to know. We can keep it under wraps in front of everyone else.”

“Keep it under wraps? We can barely keep our hands off each other,” Max grumbled miserably, gulping is coffee again. “How could we last a few months?”

“I dunno,” Morgan’s cheer had gone, he cuddled up into Max, squeezing, trembling slightly. Guilt flooded Max. He hadn’t wanted to scare him. But Morgan did need to feel a bit of it too- it was partly why Max had been so apprehensive in the first place.

“Two weeks drove us crazy.”

“Nearly two months...” Morgan went limp, and his hand slid from Max’s.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be talking like this... not when we were just- Morgan?” Max felt tears running down his back.

“Look, I’m sorry, let’s just forget I said anything, alright?” He turned his body around to face Morgan, careful to balance his cup as he did so. “Morgan? I’m sorry okay? Please, I’m going to sound like a full-on hypocrite here, but I’m not a big fan of mood swings.”

Morgan’s face shone as he took deep breaths. “Sorry. I don’t want to lose you again.”

Max smiled and put his hand on Morgan’s. “Hey, hey- that’s all over okay? I’m here now, and we both know why. It’s a start.”

Morgan shook his head violently and then kissed him. Max blanched slightly. Salty coffee wasn’t a good one. “It’s not that,” Morgan said when he paused. “I should have told you this sooner.”

Max’s stomach went cold. “Told me what?”

“I’m telling you this to clear the table okay? I- I can’t keep this from you. I think if I want us to last... I should probably mention it.” He fingered Max’s hair, but Max slapped his hand away.

“Tell me what, Morgan?”

“I might have... tonight... let Wes do his thing.”

***

Max’s cup bounced as it hit the floor. His hand was still on Morgan’s, but it was cold.

“What... do you mean... his thing?”

Morgan tried to breathe through his tears. _Brice said to tell him,_ he thought, _Brice has been right so far_. _And I never want to be without him_ _again_.

“I think... my frustration today... I mean, in the shower, you looked at me like... Oh, Max,” he parcelled his cold hand between his own and brought it up to his face.

“Spit it out, Parra.”

“I let him kiss me.”

Max’s face was as cold as his hand.

“Did you kiss back? Did you want him?”

Morgan shook his head. “I only want you now.”

“Now? Did you want him or not?”

“Yes. I did. I did because I was so sick of waiting for you, you with you ‘no’s and then wonderful kisses that felt like you meant them... and you looked at me like I was a fucking... ant.” Morgan let go of Max’s hand, he was yelling now.

Max looked ill.

“I’m sorry,” Morgan spat, “but I didn’t even know you liked me. In case you’ve forgotten, you’d pretty much convinced me until maybe an hour ago that you HATED me. I was so angry, Max.” His voice softened. “No one has made me feel like you make me feel, but it works both ways- I’d never felt worse.”

How could he have thought that? Could he have felt that kind of emotion, feeling what he felt now? After having Max in his arms and after what Max had done to him... after so much time with his lips? He could barely wrap his mind around the fact that Max- who may finally be his Max- was sitting here, so close to him, de-robed, and tensed, like his own personal Adonis.

He reached for him but Max pushed him back.

“No,” Max said firmly. “I need to think about this.” He rubbed his temples. “Did you just kiss, or did you...?”

“No! Max, it was nothing, I realised the mistake as soon as it happened... and it’s not going to be made again.”

Max continued to close his eyes.

“Trust me,” he reached out his hand again but Max continued to swat it away.

“Wes,” Max said slowly, “Wesley Fofana... who plays with you in Clermont? Who is going back... to Clermont... with you... after Marcoussis?” He opened his eyes and looked at Morgan, eyes wide.

Panic pulsed through Morgan. Shit. He hadn’t thought about that.

“It only happened once. I’ve never let him touch me before. A once-off. Promise. I have you now, I could never go near anyone else. I just wanted to tell you... because... Brice told me he thought you should know.”

“A once-off. What?” snapped Max. “Like we were?” He got to his feet and rummaged in his suitcase on the floor, pulling out his tracksuit pants. “Brice... and Brice knew? Fucking bastard- Brice knew and he didn’t- who the fuck are you guys anyway? What even is this?” He shoved them on.

“I need some air.”

“No!” Morgan leapt up after him, pulling at his arms as Max reached for a t-shirt. Max pushed him off, and rage rising faster than panic, Morgan shoved- Max aimed a punch at his head in retaliation, but  Morgan had had enough and barrelled into him- they both landed hard on the floor, Morgan’s shoulder twinged awkwardly as he slammed off the carpet. Max gave a yell and struggled against Morgan’s grip, trying to tip him onto his back, but Morgan pushed back harder, wrapping his legs around Max’s waist and plunging his fingers into his hair. Max’s hands pushed so hard against his ribs that he thought some might break. Morgan gave one final shove- Max thumped down on his back, and Morgan forced their lips together into the most heated kiss he’d ever experienced, he felt the passion as it pounded through both their bodies and he tasted tears- not just his own this time- and coffee as Max’s hands stopped pushing and instead pulled him so tight into his torso as if he hoped they might weld together- and Morgan did likewise, never not wanting to feel the heat from Max’s stomach against his own and the pulse of the muscles in his arms as they pressed into his back- he forgot to breathe-

Their lips parted and it was over almost as soon as it had begun. Morgan let his forehead rest against Max’s, who was still on the floor, both their chests were heaving, and Max was crying; there was no mistaking the red twinge around his eyes and the way his breath caught in his throat.

“I love you, Max,” Morgan said eventually. His tears dripped down to join Max’s on his cheeks.

Max choked. His fingers curled into Morgan’s back.

“Did you hear me?” Morgan moved his hands from Max’s hair and rested them against the sides of his face. “I said... I... fucking... love you. Idiot.”

Max’s hands began to push against him again, and now rolled Morgan over onto his back, looking down at him now instead.

“Please... don’t go... it’ll hurt...”

Max shook his head and pushed himself to his feet, reaching for the tshirt as he walked past.

“I need some air,” he said again, and Morgan closed his eyes, rolling over onto the quickly fading patch of heat that Max’s body had left behind.

***

And Morgan went completely numb.

Time slowed. Morgan pulled himself back into the bed, the bed that smelled like Max, pulling the duvet around himself so tight that he rather hoped it would cut all circulation off. Not like he’d know. He didn’t feel anything.

 _I shouldn’t have said it_. He thought. _But I had to. He has to know._

This hurt more than the other times Max had left him. This one had stabbed deep- he’d bared all, and it hadn’t been enough.

He didn’t know what he’d do if Max didn’t come back. How he’d survive the next two weeks knowing what it felt like to touch him properly. Feign an injury maybe? Get sent home?

 _He’s absolutely right_ , his brain confirmed, _this is going to ruin your career. Told you._

He wasn’t sure how long had passed until he heard the door open again. Through a crack in one eye he saw something distinctly Max shaped edging towards the bed.

“Morgan,” it had Max’s voice too, “are you awake?”

The duvet was pulled out of his grip and suddenly he felt the dull heat of skin against his own.

“Sorry.” Was that all he had to say?

“I know you’re not asleep.”

Morgan’s eyes flew open, meeting Max’s deep brown ones. Still he felt nothing.

“Look,” hands were on his waist, he couldn’t bring himself to react, he couldn’t take him seriously, “none of this changes how I feel about you.” He leaned in and kissed him. Morgan kept his lips firmly shut. None of this felt like it was really happening. It was like he was imagining it to fill the void.

“I... I... love you too. I think.” Max stuttered. Morgan’s eye’s narrowed. “No, no you’re right. That was really lousy. No- Morgan, I don’t love you. I want to though. I want to be able to feel about you... the way you do about me. But it’s so immense, Morgan- I feel a bit... overwhelmed. But it doesn’t mean that I don’t want to be with you. I do, I do actually want to be with you.”

Morgan’s face still wouldn’t display emotion if he tried.

Max sighed.

“You want to know what really made me come round today? It was seeing you in the showers with Wes. If anything, that snapped me out of any kind of trance I was in.”

Crying Max?

“That was why,” he started to choke again, “I broke. I had always wanted you, I should never have made you feel like it was any different- but I wasn’t ready for all this... feeling. I’m still not ready for it. It scares me.” He sniffed. Morgan blinked. “It broke me because I realised I couldn’t bear the thought of anyone touching you like that. I wanted you all for myself. So... so... I don’t know how I’ll survive, letting you go, when in the back of my mind there’ll always be this fear that you won’t miss me or get bored or angry and now, that Wes will always be just a few bottles of wine away.”

Hands were on his neck.

“I don’t think I want you to promise me otherwise. I don’t think a promise would really matter. But I feel like all I can do is just tell you that this is how it is and hope that you’ll remember.”

Max kissed him- slowly moving his lips, coaxing Morgan to do the same. _He’s hungry. He wants it_. Almost everything in Morgan wanted to respond, let his hands run up and down Max’s body- but he pressed his lips together. _Prove to me you want it._

“But I don’t know now... you’re not... working.” Max kissed him again. “Shit, I think I’ve really broken you this time.”

Morgan blinked. He couldn’t respond. He wasn’t even entirely sure of what he was hearing. Besides, he was still numb, numb from the first time Max had left him. Max was the one discussing trust here, but Morgan wasn’t so sure how he’d deal with it if he ever let that curly mop out of his sight again.

“Morgan,” Max was pleading now, running his hands up and down his sides. Then he reached for Morgan’s hand, pulling at it, pulling it down, pulling himself closer until their chests touched, pulling Morgan’s hand down until it just rested between Max’s legs.

“Touch me, Morgan,” Max whispered through tears. He tilted his hips up, and, manipulating them with his own, ran Morgan’s fingers through hair. “Please. I’m all yours. Only yours. I want you. Remember? Remember the changing rooms that time? I want you to do that again. Can you do it for me?”

Morgan felt his fingers moving past the special patch he knew Max was referring too, gently coming to a stop on it. Max was kissing his face. “C’mon, Morgan!” He grabbed a piece of Morgan’s lip between his teeth, and bit- hard.

And Morgan reacted- kissing Max back, fingers leaving the guidance of Max’s own, pressing down. Max collapsed against Morgan’s shoulder as his fingers began to work, while Morgan pushed his mouth into Max’s neck, smelling him, tasting him, absorbing the feeling of the warmth and moisture of another body, the heart beat, the shaking, Max had lifted his head to just below Morgan’s ear and Morgan could hear his breathing becoming ragged, hands pulled at him and he pressed his fingers even deeper- and then there was the noise that told him it was over, singing in his ears.

He kissed Max’s dazed face. “Sorry,” he said finally, and Max nuzzled into his neck, “I love you, you know. I’m sorry that I love you so much.”

He cried into Max’s hair as he slept.


	17. Seventeen

Morgan was aware.

He was aware that he had been asleep, and now he was awake.

And on breathing deeply on his realisation, his limbs screamed.

 _Post-match day_. He grimaced internally.

Upon thought his brain pounded.

 _Post- match hangover, too_.

He was aware of heat. Choking, sticky, nauseating heat; heat that made his hair latch on to his head. He breathed in again, with difficulty, chest expanding to maximum width, trying to calm the pounding of his brain and the swishing of his stomach- when his skin pressed against warmth.

And that’s when he felt it. He felt the arm that was looped around his back. The foot gently hooked around his. Hair- soft and slightly sweat-ridden like his own against his chin, and of the scratchier variety pressing into the base of his neck.

He realised his own arms reached around this other body too- a head rested against his upper arm- he’d lost the feeling in his fingers- his other hand rested on a protruding shoulder blade.

As gently and as slowly as he could, he stretched his legs, sighing slightly as the blood began to run through them again, and at the almost pleasant feeling of stiffness that bit his muscles. He then tried to move his trapped arm, which was greeted my miffed grumbles, and the arm behind his back tensed- pulling Morgan even more towards heat.

 _Max_ , his brain told him. And then last night came back- all of it- the Gin spilled in his hair and the nerves and the tears and the communal showers and the club and Brice and Wes and Max and Max and Max- the tears, the teeth, the kisses, the touches. His eyes flew open- but it was still dark, pitch black, all he had were his other senses- feeling Max’s heat, gradually realising just how unclothed they both were, hearing his breath catch softly as he slept, smelling nearly-gone aftershave drowning in perspiration.

But this was far too uncomfortable to be a dream. Morgan’s heart stopped. And when he woke up? Would that be it? Would he go? Was just their first night together repeating itself- and he’d wake up in several hours with only the faint smell of Max on sheets to remind him that the past twelve hours had happened at all?

 _He wasn’t drunk when he said it_ , Morgan reminded himself. _He has to mean it_. _He’s still here. He came back. He came back._

Also, right now Morgan was a bit too drowsy to be overly pessimistic.

With his free hand he carefully fingered the slight waves in Max’s hair- hair he knew would be in total disarray by now. A small part of him- a teeny-tiny part that Morgan quickly packed back in its box- urged him to wake Max up and find out what would happen. But it disappeared as quickly as it came on.

After a while he just could not bear this heat any longer.

Carefully, slowly, he pushed against Max, rolling him onto his back, freeing his arm, careful not to go too far, mindful that this was a single bed they were sharing- he could feel the sudden drop not too far from his own back.

Rolling Max onto the floor- what a wonderfully romantic way to ruin everything.

Air blasted against his chest as he peeled Max away, lifting the duvet off them both. He shivered- unprepared for the sudden cold.

He rearranged himself around Max while he snored, wrapping his arms around Max’s torso just under his shoulders, pulling him close again, gently resting his head so it sat in the middle of Max’s chest.

Max stirred. His arm still loosely around Morgan tightened and his other swung up and collided with Morgan’s face. Morgan winced as he felt a poke just above his eye.

“Mmph.” Max’s fingers pulled at Morgan’s hair, but softened as they reached his cheek, and lightly danced circles on his face.

“Morgan,” Max sighed quietly, almost in his sleep, hand finally coming to a stop on Morgan’s neck.

 _This is how it should have been three months ago_ , thought Morgan, as he allowed Max’s heartbeat to lull him back to sleep.


	18. Eighteen

Max couldn’t decide if it was the light or thirst that woke him, but suddenly he just couldn’t sleep. Pre-dawn light shone right on his face through the blinds.

 _And, obviously, Brice and I were too lazy to close them properly,_ he thought, seriously regretting that sloppiness as weak blue light sliced through his eyelids. He tried to swallow but his throat screamed.

And then there was the problem of Morgan. Obvious problems, like how he had during the night managed to tangle himself around Max a la the highest level of Scouts knot. Max pressed his mouth lightly to his temple before slowly easing himself out of his grip, having to slide Morgan’s linked arms down his legs, pulling his feet through the gap, before soundlessly dropping over the edge of the bed.

 _How did we fit?_ He marvelled. On ordinary nights, nights when he didn’t have to share his sheets, Max reckoned being alone in that bed would be complicated for him with his tossing and turning. He had slept soundly though. It had been all the previous night’s activity.

_Longest. Night. Ever._

And it still wasn’t over. Max didn’t know how he’d go back to sleep, he felt so alert. He was tempted to crawl back in there beside Morgan, press their mouths together... take Morgan’s hands and place them on his body ... that horrible mixture of tongue and morning breath rousing his gut... amongst other things...

He shook his head and shivered. That was the bigger problem Morgan posed.

Convincing himself that the shivers were due to cold, although the back of his head screamed otherwise, Max pulled shorts on and brought a hoodie over his head as he staggered towards the bathroom- where he ran the cold tap, glugging down vast amounts of icy water until he really was freezing. He splashed his face for good measure, running wet fingers through his hair, flattening it... although a glance in the mirror above the sink told him it was no use.

He sank to his knees and leaned back against the bath, brain whirring.

Morgan. Morgan. Morgan.

Max was almost angry with himself that after such a short time, he craved him so much. He’d wanted him before, obviously, which is why he’d made it such a drawn out progress. This feeling was so intense, he’d reckoned, that it couldn’t be anything but fleeting.

But it was nothing like Morgan acted towards him. Every time Morgan’s lips met Max’s, or his body, it was like they wanted to consume him. He touched Max like he was made of paper, or like he was silk. He was held like nothing else mattered in the entire universe.

But Max knew he’d brought that behaviour on himself. He didn’t think he, of all people, deserved it after how cold, how _crushing_ , he’d been to Morgan, but also...

Thing was... well, he should probably confront Morgan about it sooner rather than later, but he didn’t think Morgan was admitting to himself how big the blanks were about their first night in Paris. How far they’d gone... tried to go. He didn’t think either of them really meant it. But it had happened. And he knew, at the rate Morgan’s touches were going, that it was only a matter of time before he – and Max flinched at the thought- tried it again.

God. Fu-uck. He was never drinking again. Ever.

Max leaned forward to calm the rocking of his stomach and pressed his forehead into his palms. He tried to reassure himself that, if... if, well, sex was what Morgan wanted- and his face flushed even thinking that- he could have got it somewhere else. Wes, drunk Wes even, being an excellent example. He didn’t doubt, after Mermoz’s story, that there was more of this going on in the squad than anyone really thought about. Or Morgan could have paid for it... paid for... someone... who knew what they were doing...

He began to rock back and forth, dread manifesting itself in his gut and clogging his oesophagus.

After awhile he reached out for the edge of the sink and used it to drag himself back to his feet. Because hyperventilating on the bathroom floor never really solved anything. He re-organised the deodorant and shaving foam bottles at the edge of the sink and instantly felt much better.

Back outside the bathroom, and greeted with slightly more light, he set about picking up and folding the messes of socks, shirts-

“Oi,” Morgan was awake, he was watching Max through thin slits in his eyelids. “Stahp.”

Max scowled at him and Morgan smiled, sliding out from under the covers and making his way over to the couch in the corner of the room, pushing the neat bundles of clothes from it and sitting himself down. His smile grew as Max tutted.

“Who knew you were out to stir the pot?”

Morgan just yawned and patted the space beside him. Max wanted to refuse, because nothing got under his skin more than mess.

Okay, Morgan had literally been under his skin. Max swallowed. Even if he didn’t remember it.

“None of this.” Morgan muttered sleepily, tugging at the strings of Max’s shorts as he arrived infront of him. Max lifted the hoodie over his head as he sat down and discarded it.

“Or what?” he asked, as Morgan nuzzled into his bare shoulder.

“Or I’ll do this,” Morgan muttered, and with one hand forced the elastic of his shorts down, and Max bucked as Morgan’s hand force the waistband down over his crotch.

“Told you,” Morgan’s voice was tired but Max heard the edge to it.

“Jesus, Morgan,” he gasped, and his shorts reached his knees, and slid down to his ankles.

He felt the smile against his neck, but Morgan’s hands instead ran two fingers down Max’s other shoulder.

“Scar,” he mumbled, and Max knew he was referring to the thin white line that shoulder surgery had left behind when he was eleven.

“Old,” he said back in reply, and he suddenly found he’d hooked his arm around Morgan’s back, pulling him in tighter. Morgan’s head turned and they kissed- mouths open, slow, lazy.

 _This is the best “Good Morning” I think I’ve ever got,_ Max thought, as his chest sang. But he was right about the morning breath.

“You taste disgusting,” Morgan muttered, pausing momentarily to rub his nose off Max’s.

Morgan’s eyes were wonderful, Max suddenly realised. They were beautiful and dark, and full of this softness and at times genuine excitement that you would normally reserve for a Labrador Retriever- but also sharply intelligent. On the pitch, they could be so intense. They never missed anything. They analysed everything. Even though he was half asleep right now, Max knew little escaped Morgan.

He would have taken more of the foul taste only Morgan instead pushed into his neck, other hand reaching out to play with Max’s.

Max realised that they’d never held each other’s hands before. Such a simple gesture had totally escaped them. It had all been so frantic and desperate and trying to get across- or in his case, block- feelings that they hadn’t done anything like this. Nice things like this. Appreciate the other’s skin, like he was now: watching how the shadows formed on the curves of Morgan’s arm. Lock fingers. Hold each other. Let their breathing fall in sync. Morgan’s hair was softer than his, he realised, as it rested against his chin.

 _It’s like we’re together_ , Max thought, _like we’re in a proper relationship. But we’re not. We can’t be_. _We both know it too... I’m too far away, we’re both too committed to our job on the pitch. That’s I guess why everything we do is always so full of... need._

He felt suddenly sad, and Morgan must have felt him tense because he lifted his head from Max’s shoulder and leaned back- brows knitted. Softly, he kissed Max’s cheek.

“You okay?” he asked. His fingers were still in Max’s so Max squeezed while he searched Morgan’s face, trying to sort out his answer.

“Morgan...” he began.

Morgan sat back fully and Max felt worse as he felt his hand suddenly empty.

“Why do you do this, Max?” he asked softly, and his head tilted to one side. “You like what we do, don’t you?”

“Yes,” oh GOD yes, “but that’s just it, Morgan.” He reached behind Morgan’s head and brought them together so he could kiss him. “What’s next?”

Morgan laughed out loud, throwing his head back. “Seriously?” Max smiled despite himself. “How long do you think I’ve had to think about this, Maxou? There are so many things,” and this time he kissed Max, and Max felt the desire in the scrape of teeth on his bottom lip, “that I just cannot wait to do to you.”

“To me?” Max grinned at him.

Morgan gave a very girly giggle- as Max realised he tended to do whenever he’d been exposed to too much skin- and pulled at him. Max lifted himself up and rearranged himself on Morgan’s lap, knees pressing into Morgan’s hip bones, while Morgan pulled his calves up onto the seat and kneeled under him. Max was just taller, so he wrapped his arms around Morgan’s neck, pulling him in tighter. They kissed properly now- fiery and wet and vile and hungry.

Morgan seemed to run out of steam again and Max this time buried into his shoulder, tracing circles with his fingers into Morgan’s back.

“It’s okay if this is all... too much for you,” sighed Morgan. “It’s okay. It’s really okay. I have you now.”

He didn’t remember.

“Morgan... how much do you remember... about Paris?”

“What do you mean?”

Max’s face started to burn with his insides. He was too shy, too... unused to this situation.

“I don’t think you remember everything we... attempted.” Slowly, he pushed his hips up to Morgan’s, spreading his legs out, letting his weight fall back, letting their eyes meet- even slower again, increasing the pressure in his hips as he pushed.

Morgan’s eyes widened and he stopped. “No.”

Max nodded, silent.

“No. No. WAY. I could not have been drunk enough to completely blank on that.”

“I dunno, I guess, it didn’t last very long. And was very messy, to be honest,” he added, as an afterthought.

Morgan was still shaking his head. “Max, that’s... that’s serious. You can’t just _forget_.”

“Well,” Max growled, fingers pressing into Morgan’s sides, “I guess I would know, seeing as I’m the one who fucking got hurt.”

Morgan’s jaw dropped.

“Are you trying to tell me,” he said slowly, breathlessly, “that I don’t actually remember... _being IN you_.”

“It looks like it. Morgan, I could barely walk the next morning. I should never have let it happen, it hurt so fucking much.” He broke his gaze and stared instead at Morgan’s chest.

“Is this... wow... is this, why you really kept me away?”

“What?” Max’s neck nearly broke, it snapped back up so fast. “No, no... NO.” He kissed him furiously between words. “I was sober by then, I was doing a lot better than you anyway... and I, well...” He blushed furiously. “I may even have started it. I just... had never done it- actually, any of it- before and everything else you were doing was so wonderful that I didn’t realise it would be... painful.” He stammered to a stop.

Morgan spluttered, but then he burst into uncontrollable laughter.

Max felt his annoyance levels tested. “What?” he demanded furiously.

“Oh, Max,” Morgan kissed him, “calm down. Although you are so fucking cute when you’re embarrassed.” The next kiss was longer. “I can’t believe you’re such an idiot, but I love you anyway.”

Max glared at him.

“Oh... _lube,_ you twat. Didn’t you think of that?”

Max felt so ashamed at this stage that he thought he was going to be sick, he’d at least hoped that Morgan would take this seriously.

“I didn’t have any handy,” he growled sarcastically.

Morgan, still laughing, was pushing the hair back off Max’s face. “Even I know that.”

“You forget you were a party to proceedings.”

Morgan, reaching up because while on his lap, Max for once was the taller one, kissed his forehead.

“Sorry,” he said, although he didn’t really look it. “It’s just... I’ve never done any of... this either. I guess I just thought if I fucked someone I’d remember it.” The harsh language was unusual on his tongue when he was so... not angry that Max flinched. He must have looked surprised too at this revelation because Morgan continued, his tone more serious, “why... what did you think?”

“I dunno,” Max mumbled. He was surprised. He’d just assumed Morgan had gone through more people than just him. “You’re a real charmer. And stupidly popular.” And after an uncertain pause, “stupidly, stupidly, popular.”

Morgan, still giddy, pressed his lips to his neck almost encouragingly, “but not that way, though.”

“And you know what to do to me.” _And I don’t_ , he nearly added.

Morgan grinned, “you’re easy to undo. And- look at me, Max- I don’t think you realise... I respond to you. You make,” his voice quietened to a breath, “some wonderful noises when I get you in the right places. Mmmmph.” He sighed as Max hardened against his stomach, or maybe it was because Max had suddenly kissed him.

Max didn’t want talk anymore.

In fact, he was pretty sure he knew what he wanted. He’d thought about it, and, despite what Morgan had said, he wanted to try again.

Morgan was forcing him back into the corner of the sofa and Max reached back, pushing with his arms and levering himself even higher above Morgan, losing his fingers in his soft hair, tilting his hips back so he leaned into the edge of the seat -

“No!” Morgan stopped, panting.

“Don’t you want it?” asked Max quietly.

“I don’t want to hurt you. We should wait.”

“You don’t want to wait.”

“I don’t want to hurt you, look,” and his hands slowly travelled up Max’s thighs, “we don’t have to.”

“I want you.”

“I love you.”

Max was silent. Morgan still trumped him on that.

“We don’t have to... now. We have time.”

“But that’s just it. We DON’T. This time next week, we’ll be at opposite ends of the country. Morgan. EVERYTHING. About this, about us. It all. Fucking. Hurts.” He felt tears prick his eyes, spill over, run down his face.

“Shhhh,” Morgan’s kisses were soft and distracting.

“... and on top of it all you’re not helping-stopping-me fall in love with you,” Max choked out the words and Morgans lips met his again, furious and warm, pushing him further into the chair.

“Did you mean that?” he asked breathlessly.

Max nodded. He did. It had taken him too long to realise it, but it was true.

Morgan looped one arm around Max’s back, holding him up, while the other moved down his spine- gently guiding Max down into his lap... and suddenly he pushed- into Max, against the chair.

Max screamed.

Morgan’s nails scraped at his back and he pushed deeper again, Max realising from the vibration in Morgan’s throat that he’d come slightly, but he still couldn’t swallow the cry as he felt Morgan still hard and deep inside him, chaffing against his insides as he shoved. Max thought his hips might break as they were forced further apart.

Pain.  It flashed up behind his eyelids every time Morgan clashed their hips together, it forced itself out his throat, making him cry, large salty tears dripping into his slightly open mouth. It shut down everything that his body had, only feeling the fire between his legs, and pressure building up behind cock, shifting around inside.

Max didn’t stop him, he couldn’t stop him. He could take his pain for Morgan. He could do it. He could last. Morgan, who had waited, who had still wanted him despite all his pushing away, despite him being one stupid Maxime. He’d been the first to pick him out from the crowd and Max craved how he was touched like he mattered. He owed it to him.

Morgan slowed, Max felt lips on his face, whimpering as Morgan changed to angle to reach him. Morgan’s kisses were sloppy, but he bit deep into Max’s neck as he slowed their rhythm down to an almost stop.

“Hmmmm... mmph... you are... fantastic,” he growled, and Max realised that his fingers tugged at Morgan’s hair, drenched in sweat. “Hold on.” The rumbling of his voicebox on Max’s skin made Max think he was purring. “Shhhh,” was all he had to say as he loosened his arm around Max’s back, bringing him down so he rested flat on it against the cushions, sitting perpendicular, while Max choked at the movement.

Morgan stopped.

“Shit, Max!” He felt fingers in his. “Am I hurting you?”

 _You mean you didn’t hear?_ Max thought.

“Mmmmph... I think I’m gonna hurl,” he moaned. Fingers clung onto his.

“Why didn’t you- Jesus, I’m ending this.“

“Nuh, it’s not so ba- ohhhhh. STOP.” His eyes flew open. Just has Morgan had begun to slide out of him, his cock rubbed up inside him a way that was... not entirely unpleasant.

Morgan stopped again, Max saw his hair stuck to his scalp, his face burning.

“Again.”

“No, Max-“

“AGAIN- ohhhh. OH.” Max’s eyes closed again and his spine arched in response to Morgan’s slow grind. “Ohhhh...” he gasped for air as Morgan slowed right down again, “keep going, that’s- up a little bit... that’s good.” He began to relax more as he felt the reaction to the friction in his balls. “It’s really, really good.”

“You’re much looser now,” Morgan wheezed, mostly too himself, beginning to push further in, reacting to Max’s slow moans of pleasure.

Again. And Again. Morgan’s fingers slid into his again and he placed both their hands around Max, caressing, moving both hands up and down with the rhythm of his thrust. Max forced his eyes to inch open and they met Morgan’s, blazing; Morgan, creating this sensation, with his warmth and his wonderful touch and how is tongue felt against Max’s skin- the gentle rock of his pelvis against Max and the feeling of penetration and how much he weighed inside of him.

And Max finally came, freezing, feeling wet dribble over his knuckles, swallowing air as the feeling poured out of him. He pulled his hand free from Morgan’s, letting himself go, and reached it up to Morgan’s cheek, pulling himself up and Morgan’s face down so he could feel those lips.

Morgan gave a soft “oh” and Max felt him come apart inside him, gasping as Max’s teeth pulled at his lips. He slid out of Max and they both collapsed back onto the cushions. Morgan glided over the wetness on Max’s belly to kiss him again, softly, and he slid his arms under Max’s so they could lock in an embrace, placing his head on his chest. Max let his hands rest on Morgan’s hips and he realised how hard they were both panting.

They both stayed like that for what felt like an eternity, both realising what they had just done.

“Wow,” Max breathed, and a grin began to spread all over his face.

“Wow,” Morgan repeated, slightly muffled as he pressed his face into Max. “I...” and he lifted his head again, “can’t believe you just wiped your hand on my face.”

Max’s face was beginning to hurt  from smiling and he laughed- and then he turned his head and slid his tongue up Morgan’s cheek.

“Ewwww...”

Max giggled. “My jizz tastes good.”

“I cannot believe you said that,” Morgan kissed him furiously. “But you already knew it.”

Max’s eyes swept over his face. “Hmmm?”

“It’s not like I didn’t tell you enough times.”

They both paused to giggle.

“That feels like years ago, fuck me,” Max whistled.

“Just did.”

“Poor. Okay, that was poor.” But Max continued to smile as Morgan nuzzled into his hair, he gently ran his fingers down Morgan’s back to show he liked it.

Morgan paused. “Are you okay?”

Max kissed his shoulder. “I am better than okay,” he said quietly, although he suspected he’d be walking funny for a while.

“Can you make it to the shower?”

“Mooorgannnn,” Max bit him, “can’t we just stay like this?” But Morgan’s skin already coloured from the sun through the blinds.

“Well, can you?”

“No,” Max replied petulantly.

“Even if I do this?”

Morgan kissed him, grasping Max’s jaw with his fingers and forcing his mouth open, pushing in tongue into Max’s mouth so his stomach swirled. Max pushed his fingers into the small of Morgan’s back and Morgan forced his mouth open more so his cheeks hurt. He grabbed Morgan’s top lip with his teeth like he knew he liked it as the kiss grew in passion, pulling each other together, feeling Morgan’s nose press into his face, feeling him harden against his stomach.

Morgan pulled him up to sit but the rub of fabric against his buttocks reminded him of just how sore he was and he winced. This didn’t escape Morgan.

They broke apart.

“You are not okay, are you?”

“No,” Max knew his scrunched up face gave him away even though he lied, and badly, “and by no I mean... yes.” The sharp pain reminded him how tired he was and he yawned.

Morgan cradled Max’s face in his hands. “You want to go to bed?” He whispered.

“To sleep, yes,” and he yawned again. “I’m sorry Morgan.”

“It’s okay,” he pressed his lips to Max’s forehead. “Let’s get you to bed.”

It took Max a while to uncurl from the position he had set in, and it wasn’t pleasant, but leaning on Morgan he limped over and Morgan gently placed him down on the mattress, pulling the duvet over them that had gone cold in their absence. It was almost soothing.

He was already half asleep by the time Morgan had slipped in beside him, but he took his hands and pulled them together so he could place a messy, lazy kiss on his nose.

“’Night,” he murmured.

“We’ll get you something for that tomorrow.  A... cream... or something.”

“Kay.”

“I’ll put it on.” Morgan’s breath tickled his ear.

“Yeah, okay. Promise me lube next time though,” he muttered.

He was dimly aware of Morgan’s smile at “next time”.

“Can’t wait to put that on too.”

“Imma sleep now, alright.”

The last thing he was aware of was Morgan telling him he loved him as they eventually both gave in to slumber. Neither of them heard the key in the door several hours later.


	19. Nineteen

“Oh my GOD- HOLY CRAP!”

“What?” Max woke suddenly, pushing something heavy off him as he jumped bolt upright.

About a split second too late he realised the heavy object on top of him was Morgan, who yelped as he hit the floor.

Max turned his head to see Brice, standing frozen in the door frame, before he grabbed the duvet and yanked it up to his chin, shrugging unapologetically at Morgan on the floor.

“Brice! How... how did you get in here?”

“WHY are you here?” grumbled Morgan.

Brice shook his head, seemingly recovering himself.

“My room too, remember? Hello, Parra, nice seeing you again. You were wearing a lot more the last time.” He sniffed. “This place smells like a monkey cage.”

Morgan stood up, folding his arms, as if to prove a point.

“I also came to get you guys for the pool session... just in case you were wondering, I’d imagine both your absences would be... noted.” Brice cocked his head innocently.

“We can go later,” growled Morgan.

“And breakfast.”

Morgan’s stomach, at that point gave him away. Max couldn’t meet his eyes as he snorted. Morgan looked from Max to Brice and back again.

“Fine,” he said eventually, “if that’s how it is.” And he marched into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. A few seconds later they heard the shower running.

Max looked back at Brice who was carefully locking the room door from the inside.

“I don’t think he’s a morning person,” he said nonchalantly, as he saw Max’s expression.

“Really? That’s what you have to say?” Max rolled his eyes. “Why are you here, Brice?”

“Oh, and it is lovely to see you too.”

“What exactly did you drink this morning?”

Brice sat down on his own bed, still made. He motioned towards the closed bathroom door with his head.

“I slept on Fouass and Fufu’s couch. Fufu snores like a bloody steam train, I didn’t sleep at all and I’m probably still drunk from last night. The sooner I get in this swimming pool, the better.” He was still wearing his tux.

“Ahh.”

Max sat up, still keeping the duvet drawn around him.

“What time is it?”

“About half eleven.”

“What?! Why didn’t you get me up sooner?”

“Well, I did pop round at about half six, but...” he grinned.

“What?”

Brice put on a high pitched voice. “ _Oh, ohh, that’s good Morgan, again Morgan, again, , OH MORGAN, OHHH._ ”

Max didn’t know if he was more shocked or embarrassed but he felt himself colour anyway so he pulled the covers over his head.

“So... you boned, then.”

“I... do... not... sound like that.” He knew his voice was muffled.

“Ohhhh,” he heard Brice chuckle, “you certainly do when you’re having your pipes cleaned.”

“BRICE!”

“What?”

“I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU WOULD SAY IT LIKE THAT.”

“Oh, c’mon, can’t a guy congratulate his best friend on finally getting laid?”

“NOT. LIKE. THAT.” Max pulled the duvet away from his face, and his pointed an accusatory finger at the grinning, rounded bundle of Brice, “and there is nothing congratulatory about that tone.”

“Ha, you guys so screwed.”

“You are twelve years old. Seriously. We talked and... sorted things out.”

“With your pants off? Ha. Ha. Ha. Yeah right. Serious conversation there.”

Brice was grinning at him so hard Max knew he would be reduced to something similar soon so he sort of changed the subject.

“Why didn’t you tell me about Wes?”

“What about Wes?”

Max glared at him. The same way he glared at him when they’d lived together in Agen and he knew Brice had taken the last Twinkie in the packet. Back when there were only two of them in the apartment, and Brice knew he was caught.

But Brice’s smile just widened.

“I’m glad he told you.”

“You’re glad he- what?”

Brice rolled his eyes. “It’s good.”

“It’s not good, you saw him with his tongue down... down...” he swallowed, he couldn’t bring himself to say his name in front of Brice, because he was still not sure what kind of possessive noun to put on Morgan, “ _hi_ s throat and you didn’t think it might be important to tell me?”

“Well... no. Okay, okay, I didn’t because I knew you’d freak and I’d had enough of that dealing with Morgan when I caught him. And also, well, he told you himself anyway, like I knew he would, because I knew he wanted you that badly, so badly, and to start off on a clean slate.

“And Maxou, well, because I knew the more I got you to freak out the more likely you’d commit.”

Max untangled himself from his duvets and reached across the gap between the beds to punch Brice very hard in the arm.

“Ow!”

“You’re a douche.”

“A ‘thank you’ would be nice.”

Max finally grinned and sat down next to him, with one arm pulling him into a hug.

“Thanks,” he whispered.

Brice patted his back. “You know I’d do anything for you, yeah?”

“Yeah... I do.”

Brice paused for a second before he asked, “are you happy?”

Max was silent for a while. “Now, I am,” he said finally.

“Don’t worry about next week,” Brice offered, “you’ll only ruin everything.”

“Oh, thanks. Buddy.”

Brice chuckled. “Just focus on the non-stop sex until then.”

“Briiiiiiiice,” but Max was laughing. “Will you ever drop this? Seriously, did you make this happen just so you’d have a reason to finally poke me about something?”

Brice kissed his forehead. Then he sat back and became serious. “ _Mec_ , I am here to make you happy. Often, you don’t know what that entails, but,” and he glanced at the bathroom door behind Max’s back, “often I do,” and he smiled, “and I am happy to nudge you in the right direction.” He gave Max an extra squeeze. “I think he really loves you, you know. You guys might be okay.”

Max looked over his shoulder and back at Brice.

“You know you want to.”

Max smiled. And he reached out and squeezed Brice’s hand. “I’m never going to make this up to you.”

“Get in there already.”

Max laughed, got up and walked across the room. He paused with his hand on the door.

“I am strongly going to advise you to invest in a set of ear plugs this week, but, for now... maybe cover your ears.”

“Maybe I’ll just invest in a new roommate?”

“And also just one other thing-” Max paused and looked back over his shoulder at Brice.

“Unless it’s ‘pass me some shorts I need to cover this thing up’, I really don’t think I want to hear it.”

“... do yourself a favour and don’t sit on the couch,” he finished with a snigger and mildly regretted not looking back at Brice’s face as he closed the door behind him.

“What? You didn’t... MAAAAX!”

***

Morgan got up from the side of the bath as Max walked in.

“Well?” he asked.

Max smiled at him and Morgan felt slightly light-headed.

“I thought you were showering?”

Morgan slid his arms around Max and pulled him closer, “I was sort of hoping...”

“You didn’t have to ask,” Max grinned as they kissed.

“I will never get sick of you,” said Morgan, unhooking one arm to pull back the shower curtain.

“Hopefully not in the next few minutes.”

“I’ve never had shower sex,” added Morgan thoughtfully, but he was silenced by Max’s mouth.

“As long as...”

 _His eyes are beautiful_. Morgan marvelled, momentarily distracted. _And someday I must ask about that tattoo_.

“As long as... what?”

“I get to be your Max,” Max blurted out, quickly ducking under the showerhead.

Morgan pushed his sopping hair from his face as he kissed him, again, knowing that the water could now never wash Maxime Machenaud from his skin. “You have always been my Max,” he said, and then he sank to his knees.


	20. Twenty

_March, 2013_

_  
_

_This was a really bad idea,_ thought Max, _I am too full of dessert to be looking at... more dessert_.

They rose in small peaks on the buffet table in front of him: cheesecakes, sponge cakes, éclairs oozing cream, other pastries covered in chocolate so newly melted that it dripped slowly onto the tablecloth below, strawberries and raspberries mashed together into a warm, sticky compote, huge glasses of thick mousse dusted with sugar, iced flowers and marzipan fruit melting slightly in the heat of the room...

But Max had been through five full courses before now and just looking at all of this made him ill.

But he had to pick something.

 _This is ridiculous,_ he told himself, _I... don’t even know what he likes. I mean, those walnut truffles were good..._

He sucked his teeth.

_What if he has allergies? I don’t know if he even has allergies. Suddenly it’s like I don’t know this guy. What if he doesn’t like sweet things? But everyone likes sweet things? But what if he prefers chocolate to...? But everyone likes chocolate._

He ran his fingers through his hair.

_Why am I even doing this anyway?_

He knew it was the guilt. Morgan did do a lot for him. He was always there when Max needed him... be it to yell at or... otherwise. And afterwards he would always hold him while he slept, flatten his hair, run cool fingers over his skin.

Max knew tonight he hadn’t been there when he’d needed someone and he knew that after the last eight weeks, someone should have been him. But being on the pitch and getting caught up in the victory had made him forget all about it, when the game was over he’d given a half thought to Morgan’s back hobbling to the dressing rooms from the pitch side... to see he was surrounded by physicians and medical staff and then deciding against it. It had been like England, but in the end, England hadn’t been too bad... he hadn’t even needed crutches, as it had turned out.

 _He could walk after England_ , his brain reminded him. _And he couldn’t tonight._

He was really scared about Morgan being okay and how scared he was only scared him more.

The fact that this could be serious made his gut stir, and when it was full of cheesecake, feeling this queasy was very uncomfortable. It was definitely his own fault, the only thing was, he just couldn’t get into his head the idea of actually BEING with Morgan. They never talked about what they were or where this was leading. They spent entire nights together, skin-on-skin, but during the day Max would ignore him and push away his every touch unless they were completely alone.

And Morgan never complained, not even when Max woke up in a panic at 3am, left him cold and closed the door behind him... because Max always came back after a couple of hours. And he somehow tolerated Max being a total dickhead during the day because there was usually a point where Max would break and next thing they’d both be locked in the kit-room with their pants off.

Morgan never complained because he knew Max needed him. And to Max, how much exactly he needed Morgan was terrifying.

And tomorrow morning they would go their separate ways, and that would be that.

He finally decided on the mousse, picking up a glass bowl of it and slipping a spoon into his pocket. He caught Kay’s eye as he tried to sneak to the door, before sighing, knowing well rightly he’d been caught, and slinking over to his table.

“What?”

Benjamin Kayser’s eyes went from the bowl of mousse to Max, and then he raised an eyebrow.

“It’s a peace offering,” Max mumbled.

“He was crying as they took him upstairs.”

“You don’t need to tell me I’m awful, I know.” Max looked at his shoes.

“Don’t you even want to know why? Gonna take more than some stolen dessert to fix this one.”

“Kay... I just need to see him.”

“Sit.”

“I don’t... want to.” Mid way through that declaration he remembered just how much more Kay weighed than he did, but he stayed standing anyway.

“Fine, don’t sit. But,” and Kay raised his finger, “and this is a threat,” Max half admired the size of his knuckles, half wanted to cower behind the nearest chair, “I will have to deal with the fallout from this. And we both know you need to up your game.”

Max nodded.

“And I also don’t care how much my idiot of a roommate thinks he loves you,” Max winced, hoping no one had been near enough to hear that, “but I want to sleep tonight, okay?”

There had been perks and repercussions to Kayser walking in on the two of them that first week. Max knew he was forever under serious scrutiny, and it had only heightened his fear of more of the squad finding out. Soon he would be able to count the numbers on both hands and he was really, really not comfortable with that.

“He’s okay though, right?” he finally croaked.

“You’ll find out,” was all he got for a reply.

***

As it was, he needn’t have worried. Morgan was had the TV on, propped up on his pillows, one leg resting higher on a chair beside the bed wrapped in towels, but the minute Max walked in he beamed and Max felt the uncomfortable feeling return in his stomach.

“Hi... you,” he said as he kneeled on the bed, handing Morgan the dessert and pressing his lips hard into his forehead. Morgan’s hair was still slightly damp and smelled wonderful. He heard the sounds in the background click off and Morgan wrapped an arm around Max’s waist, pulling them together, nestling into his stomach.

It gave Max an excuse to smell his hair again.

“How are you?” he asked, two fingers tilting Morgan’s chin up so he could lean down and kiss him.

“Much better now,” smiled Morgan- his grin was silly and stupid; ridiculously wide and infectious- and it did seriously funny things to Max. He would have put it down to whatever medication Morgan had been put on if he hadn’t seen it a thousand times already.

“What is it?” he asked, pulling away as he felt Morgan’s fingers in his hair- he knew where that was going. As he got off the bed he pulled off his dinner jacket and threw it over the end of the chair Morgan’s foot rested on. “A present?” He grinned, fondling the soft towel, “for me?”

“Funny,” Morgan plunged his spoon into his mousse, “it’s just sprained but hurts like... agh, and I stupidly let this one swell up while I sat and watched the rest of the game.”

Very carefully, Max lifted the parcel of Morgan’s foot and laid it on his lap as he sat down on the chair. He waited for Morgan’s face to unscrunch itself before slowly unwrapping it, careful to take out the ice packs around his ankle. Gingerly he brushed his fingers over the swelling where the joint should have been.

“Hmmmm,” Morgan mumbled, his mouth full of chocolate, “your fingers are cold.”

Carefully Max moved his hands over the swelling, the skin turning from dark blue to white under his touch.

“Yeah, well,” he said quietly, “your legs are hairy.”

Morgan gave another disgruntled grunt. “You can talk, Maxou.”

Morgan’s skin was warmer than normal and without really thinking about it Max lifted his foot up slowly and kissed his ankle. “I’m sorry,” he said. He pushed his face against it, feeling the strong pulse under the inflamed skin. “I’m really, really sorry.”

Morgan went quiet, placing his spoon into the bowl and putting both on his bedside table. Max picked the ice packs up again and delicately wrapped up Morgan’s foot, putting it back down on the chair as he stood up.

“Come here,” Morgan suggested, voice soft. Max curled up on the bed beside him, resting his head on Morgan’s shoulder, cushioned by the flannel of his pyjamas.

“Pyjamas?” he asked. He felt Morgan’s arm around his back and his hand rub up and down his arm through his shirt. “You didn’t think I’d come up tonight, did you?”

Morgan pulled him closer. “No,” he finally admitted.

“Why?” He rubbed his cheek against Morgan’s shoulder and felt the pleasant scratch of the fabric. “Why would you think I wouldn’t come to see you? Of course I would. I always do.” He let his hand run in small circles over Morgan’s stomach.

“Because... of the night it is. We finally won, it’s a big deal. I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to go out with the guys.”

“That’s not what you mean, Morgs,” Max had started calling him that as a sort of a term of endearment, and because Morgan hated it and sometimes it succeeded in lightening the mood... and served as fodder for arguments if they felt like having one. “You thought I wouldn’t come up because of tomorrow.”

“What? No!... Okay, I mean, yes.” He fingered at Max’s bowtie, loosening it. “Have I ever mentioned how handsome you look in your little _noeud pap_?”

Max had been thinking about how close Morgan’s neck was and was resisting the urge to sink his teeth into it, so it took a while for what Morgan had said to wash over him.

“Maybe,” and he let his nose press against it, “we should talk...,” God, Morgan smelled so good just after a shower, “about... us.” He blurted out the last bit.

Morgan’s fingers sank into cloth.

“Us?” he repeated.

Too late. Max realised what he’d said.

The problem was when they normally started this conversation the roles were reversed. Max never referred to them as an entity, never gave a name to what they did, where as Morgan had tried to, and had tried to several times.

“Yeah,” he ran his fingers under the bottom of Morgan’s pyjamas top and spread them out over his stomach, feeling Morgan stiffen, harden, under his touch. “I think... after what happened in November... we should.”

He still wasn’t proud of what happened when before they’d parted in November. He could describe it as a fight, but it honestly had felt more like war. It had been less than a week since their tumultuous first night together, when Morgan had asked him if this was just casual or, as he’d put it, “an actual thing”.

Max’s response of more or less “just casual” was apparently not the right answer, but he hadn’t wanted to put a name on it. It was nice the way it was, and besides, he was still afraid to trust him after what had happened with Wesley. Two months was a long time, if they’d even get picked again for the French team, and he knew that however hard they tried they wouldn’t be seeing each other in the interim- and it had only be a week. Who was ever sure of their feelings after a week? So it had just felt like a good idea to end it there.

Morgan had thought otherwise, and in the end, they hadn’t even said goodbye.

Brice had also been equally unimpressed at Max’s response, and hadn’t talked to him for days- despite Max’s protestations that it hadn’t been an insult to his handiwork.

Max had suffered enough for it so when Morgan had let him back into his bed on their return to Marcoussis he’d silently decided that they were never having that discussion again.

But that had been eight weeks ago.

“Are you sure?” Morgan asked, this evidently all running through his mind too. “Because... you know we don’t have to,” Max knew this was a lie and Morgan was desperate to close the matter.

“No, it’s okay,” Max pushed slowly against his chin, unsure of what to say next.

“Are we an ‘us’?” asked Morgan quietly.

“Yeah,” it felt good to say it, it felt even better when Morgan’s fingers come to rest on his, linking with them between the soft fabric and the firmness of his abs. “We have been for a while now, haven’t we?” He squeezed. “But what does it mean?”

Max felt lips at his temple. “My Max,” he heard, “and only ever mine.”

Max sighed. Morgan lived in a simpler world.

“Don’t worry,” he felt the tingle Morgan’s touch left behind as it brushed his skin, “I know, you know, that’s what matters and we don’t have to share it. It’s our business.”

Morgan knew how titchy Max got about other people knowing what they did. Max knew he wasn’t ready for it all, his life was so busy, and cementing others expectations into such a commitment was a burden he didn’t want to live with right now. But between Brice, who had guessed, Mermoz, who Brice had told, Chouly, who wasn’t going to be left out, Tzar, when Max had been forced to explain his absence at night, and Kayser... the numbers were building up.

“Kay hates me, we should never have told him,” grumbled Max. Tzar he hadn’t minded telling so much, ever since he’d moved to Paris he’d been taken under his wing and was the closest he’d had to a father figure since he’d left home. Kay, on the other hand...

“We didn’t have much of a choice at the time.”

“We could have made something up,” but this was a very bad attempt at a joke, even though he smiled at Morgan’s laugh.

“We were both completely naked, and my dick was up your ass,” Morgan’s other hand was slowly massaging Max’s head through his hair, “I am afraid, Maxou, that he had probably already reached a conclusion as to what exactly we were doing.”

“That is a very romantic way of putting it. Poetic, even.”

“Besides, he doesn’t hate you. He lets you stay with me.” This had to be their worst habit, but neither of them could sleep alone. After long days in the cold and over exerting every single muscle they had, there was just something about another hand to rub over the stiffness, tenderly discovering every bruise. Max didn’t know how’d he’d be able to sleep after this tournament ended- without Morgan’s torso to wrap his arms around, allowing his head to nestle between the groove of Morgan’s shoulder blades. Soft lips letting him know how much he was loved were among the last things he felt before sleep and among the first when he woke up each morning.

And in this respect, telling Kay had been a good thing.

“He wants me out tonight again, though,” Max shifted his body into a more comfortable position, pulling himself more onto the bed.

“I don’t think I’d be very comfortable to sleep with tonight anyhow,” said Morgan pointedly, “I’m stuck pretty much in this position until they come and get me in the morning. _La cheville_ is so full of fluid right now that rolling over with it feels like a stab.”

Max remembered what Kay had said about Morgan crying as they’d brought him upstairs and swallowed.

“What?” asked Morgan, attuned to his every movement, as always.

“I’m sorry, about earlier. I should have been there for you, I knew it was painful, I was just... I should have followed you down the tunnel, I should have been there when they bandaged you up, brought you in and I definitely should have been here instead of at that stupid dinner, which was very, very boring by the way. I’m sorry I’m such a... I guess it makes me a... bad... you know...” he paused, struggling to find the word, before finally giving in to himself and began to plant kisses on Morgan’s neck, slowly letting his teeth scrape across Morgan’s skin as he tasted him, feeling the scrape of his neck stubble against his tongue, increasing the pressure slowly, deepening, biting.

Morgan’s fingers flexed in his, running them down the happy trail on his stomach, under the elastic of his pyjama bottoms. Max felt Morgan waiting for him.

“Boyfriend?” The word fell out in a half-choke, half-gasp several long seconds after Max had grasped him and let his hand start to move. Max stopped, letting go of Morgan’s neck.

“What?” he asked, pretending to be shocked, even though he knew it was the word he had been about to spill.

“Mmph, why?” Morgan groaned as Max released his cock and brought his hand up to his chest, pulling at the flannel.  Then he realised that Max was serious, and his voice lowered to a whisper. “’I’ve been a bad boyfriend’, it was what you were going to say, wasn’t it?”

They weren’t at that stage. They couldn’t be at that stage. No. No way.

Morgan had tricked him into this state of being with his delicious-smelling neck.

Morgan’s hand caught a fistful of curls and yanked Max’s head back so he could search his eyes.

But it had been eight weeks. Eight glorious weeks. And he knew Morgan loved him. And he knew Morgan needed to hear it.

“If that’s what you want, then-“ but he didn’t finish, he was too busy kissing him, feeling Morgan’s tongue slide in and out of his mouth, tracing it with his teeth.

Morgan pulled his pyjama top over his head and Max let his hands reach out to cup his face as Morgan pulled him on to his lap, feeling his expert fingers at his shirt buttons and then hands stretch out across his chest.

He was about to reach for his belt when a sharp intake of breath reminded him of Morgan’s ankle.

“Shit!” he yelped, coming to a sudden halt and practically falling backwards, “are you- did we- is it-“

“Calm down, it’s okay; I just... tensed, is all.” Morgan’s face screwed with the pain.

“-I am so, so, SO sorry- I completely fucking forgot-“

“Max, CALM!” Morgan barked, and Max shut up. “Do me a favour and get me those painkillers over by the TV.” He reached again for the chocolate mousse. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to finish this.”

Max knew he’d been shut out but he gave it several seconds before he got up and crossed the room to the television cabinet. He spotted some anti inflammatory gel beside the small tube of pills and brought it back with him too.

“What were these doing over there?”

“I got up to get the remote and forgot them.”

“I thought this was too sore to move?”

“I was pretty desperate. That’s also why I forgot them.”

Max sat down and unwrapped Morgan’s foot again, spreading the gel over his hands and gently distributing it in small circles over the mass that was Morgan’s ankle.

“It’s cold,” Morgan hissed, mouth full.

Max glared at him reprehensively. “You big baby. It’s a sprain!”

“Sprains hurt, dumbass.”

“Dumbass? Are you trying to prove that you’re not juvenile?”

Morgan swallowed. “I’m sorry, Max,” he said, “but it doesn’t look like you’re getting any farewell sex tonight.”

“Sokay,” Max tried to pretend that wasn’t the reason for his sudden grumpiness, keeping his eyes trained on Morgan’s ankle so as to avoid his smile, concentrating on circular motions.

But he knew Morgan was grinning like an idiot.

“They were finishing up downstairs, we probably don’t have much longer until Kay gets up here anyway.”

“It’s not like I haven’t nailed you every night this week,” he could hear the amusement in Morgan’s voice.

“Morgan!” He was almost as bad as Brice when he got giddy.

“And I don’t seem to remember Kay being a problem yesterday, either. Or the day before.”

“That was different... yesterday... well, you know how long he takes in the shower. And before... well, we weren’t in the room, were we?” Max looked up. “Better?”

Morgan nodded, and Max set his foot right again before crawling over him.

“’ We weren’t in the room’, that’s one way of putting it,” Max slowly wiped excess mousse from Morgan’s lip with his finger, and tried not to think of how when he normally did that it was to clear away his come.

“I will never be able to smell chlorine again and not think of you,” Max agreed and he silenced Morgan’s laughing mouth with his own. His mind began to slip as he remembered the dim blue lights being the only thing illuminating the water of the pool at Marcoussis, The gentle lap of water against his skin. The excruciating feeling of Morgan twisting and turning inside him.

He straddled Morgan between his thighs and wrapped his arms around his neck, letting his chin rest against his shoulder as he pulled him close. Morgan’s arms snaked around his back, pulling him even tighter.

“I don’t think I want that, anyway,” Max found himself saying. “Not tonight.”

“No?” Morgan sounded mildly surprised as he nuzzled Max’s neck.

“I think I just want to hold you,” Max whispered, rocking him from side to side, “if that’s okay.” He liked feeling Morgan’s heartbeat through his skin, how his chest rose and fell when he breathed. He liked how Morgan relaxed when Max wrapped around him. He liked how he knew Morgan liked it better than anything else they did.

“If no sex is what it means for us to be officially together, I take everything back.”

So of course, Morgan tried to hide it.

Max snorted. “Shut up.”

Morgan’s hand was back at Max’s waistband. “You know how much I like that sound you make when you come.” Max’s ears echoed with his words.

“Hey, cripple- I thought we were too sore to be properly cleaned out.”

“Cleaned out?”

“I fuck back, remember?” He let his lips glide over Morgan’s bare shoulder. “And remember how much you liked it?”

It had been after Ireland, and in the middle of a particularly long night, when Morgan had quietly whispered to him that he’d sometimes wondered what it felt like. Max remembered how nervous he’d felt as he’d spread lube over his clammy hands, while Morgan locked the bathroom door behind him – they did it to spare Kay but in the end it had been merely a formality- and spread the duvet over the tiles, a cushion under his knees. Determined to take it slower than they first had, Max had slowly pushed into Morgan one finger at a time, stretching him, widening him, pausing to let him adjust if he wimpered. Then he remembered the sensation as he’d replaced his fingers with his cock: the pressure of Morgan around him, sucking him in, how he’d felt as he rubbed against his insides. Morgan had screamed so loud that they had definitely woken up the entire floor.

They hadn’t tried it since.

“No,” Max whispered finally, “none of that tonight.”

He twisted his head and they shared a long, drawn-out kiss. Max pushed deeper so their tongues could clash but Morgan stopped suddenly.

“Come with me. Back to Clermont. Please,” he wheezed.

“You know I can’t.” Max leaned in to kiss him again.

“No,” Morgan reclined to avoid his mouth. Annoyed, Max sat back. “We can make it work. Just for a few days. Just so I can get used to not being with you.”

“Morgan... we have jobs. Commitments. Commitments we can’t just leave. The last while... it’s been almost like a dream, but we have to go back to reality. We have to go back.”

“I need you!” Morgan’s eyes were desperate.

“I need you too, Morgs.”

Morgan lowered his head and Max reached up to Morgan’s face to wipe the tears suddenly falling from his eyes. Morgan pushed his forehead into Max’s chest.

“I can’t let you leave me. Not again.”

“You will. And you will be fine. It will be hard but... I’m all yours, Morgan, and you know that this time.” His fingers slowly trailed down the bumps of Morgan’s spine.

“It’s going to be... I can’t sleep without you, Maxou. How will I get through the day without know I’ll have you that night?”

“We had a few days at home during this tour, you managed then.”

“But I was coming back to you. I was getting through the days purely because I knew it was would be one day less until I could be near you again.”

Max kissed his hair, knowing that that had been his exact same reasoning.

“And you will see me again,” he assured. “Tomorrow isn’t going to be a goodbye, not really... more of an extended “see you later”.”

“That’s not even funny.”

“You wanted to laugh.”

Morgan kissed his chest. “Did not.”

“Je te kiffe, idiot. Here... let me in.”

He slid back off Morgan, who raised his body up from the mattress so Max could sit in behind him and wrap his arms around to his front.

Max rocked again as he felt Morgan’s weight press against him.

“You’re going to like New Zealand,” Morgan yawned.

“Let’s hope we both get picked.”

“If not... my grandparent’s place in Portugal is nice.”

Their faces nuzzled off each other as Max lay back into the pillows, turning them both onto their sides, pulling Morgan with him so his hair rested at Max’s cheek.

“Your foot okay? It’s still on the chair?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m still sorry about earlier.”

“I love you,” muttered Morgan, “so come to Portugal.”

“I’m sure I could disappear for a bit in the summer,” he agreed after he’d contemplated the logistics of it for several long seconds.

Morgan’s fingers stroked his.

“You know... I love you, so, so much Morgan Parra. I know I don’t say it enough for you to believe me. But I do. I love you and I need you just as much, if not more, than you love me.”

His other hand rested just below the elastic of Morgan’s pyjamas, on the part of his skin that he knew well- where the colour of Morgan’s skin lightened from his tan to almost white where it was always covered by shorts. It was one of his most sensitive places- He knew he could make Morgan make any noise he wanted him to when his teeth touched him there.

Morgan reached down and lifted his hand, moving it further along under his waistband, placing it down at his crotch.

“Touch me,” he murmured, and Max let his fingers explore until he felt Morgan’s breathing even.

***

It was about half an hour later when Kay came in to see the two of them in the same position, fast asleep- their breathing in sync with each other.

He stopped as he got to the end of their bed, cocking his head to one side. He marvelled at the fact that they were both still mostly clothed, bar Morgan’s shirt, and a few of Max’s buttons- that was pretty unusual at best. Max even still had his shoes on. He’d been half heartedly thinking of carrying out his threat of kicking Max out as he’d made his way upstairs from the ballroom of the hotel but any thought of it evaporated as he saw their impossible tangled hands resting over that particular spot on the left side of Morgan’s chest.

“I would have if you two weren’t so bloody cute,” he muttered, pulling the duvet up to their necks.

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
